Score!
by afalcone10
Summary: Sookie Stackhouse is the star soccer player at Bon Temps High School, but the playing field just got a little more interesting with the new coach. AH/OOC. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Would Sookie Stackhouse, Amelia Broadway, and Tara Thornton please go to the principal's office? Sookie Stackhouse, Amelia Broadway, and Tara Thornton to the principal's office."

Now, the voice of Bon Temps High School's office secretary, Arlene Fowler, is screechy enough to wake anyone up during first period Calculus on a bleary Monday morning, but the fact that she was talking about me made me feel like I had just finished downing four espresso shots rapid style. Talk about an OSM moment.

Nervously twisting a long, curly lock of my blonde hair, I tried to remember anything that happened recently that would have called for a trip to the principal's office with my two partners in crime. Was it the John Hughes-worthy house party Amelia hosted Saturday night when her businessman daddy had to wine-and-dine a client in New Orleans? Did someone snitch about the "mandatory" pitstop to McDonalds Tara had talked the bus driver into making after our soccer game on Friday? I wanted to know what I was walking into – no way was I gonna let Principal de Castro get the upper-hand. Maybe Amelia or Tara would know. Maybe.

We've been best friends ever since freshman year of high school, when we were the only froshies to make the varsity soccer team. We bonded by grumbling about the locker posters we had to make for the seniors or how we always had to lug the heavy equipment and water coolers to the field. Misery loves company and all that, I guess. But now we were the big, bad senior captains, and couldn't wait to exercise the power and influence we'd earned. Forget the Three Musketeers – we were like Cher, Dionne, and Tai from my favorite desert-island movie, _Clueless_.

What would Cher do? She'd strut into the principal's office and probably argue her way out of a detention. I could do that. I scooped up my doodle-covered notebook and jammed it in my backpack, smirking as I listened to the cat-calls and jabs that I had become accustomed to whenever my name was called on the loudspeaker. Nodding to my teacher, Mr. Madden, I strolled out the door and immediately spied Tara's long black braids spilling over her stuffed backpack.

"Tara!" She whipped her head around and smiled when she saw me.

"Hey girl. Any idea on what this crazy-ass meeting's all about?"

I reluctantly shook my head, causing her to swear under her breath. I knew she was hoping that I'd have some clue about why we got pulled out of class. We walked in silence until we saw Amelia perched on the bench outside the office, retouching her makeup in a tiny handheld mirror. Tara and I shared a knowing glance – of course Amelia would be worrying about her lip gloss instead of wondering why we needed to have a meeting with the school principal.

"Yo, beauty queen. Got a mascara or eye shadow or something in that big-ass designer makeup bag of yours that can tell me why I gotta leave my Ancient Civilizations class to sit with you guys in front of our sorry excuse of a principal?" Tara sassed. I giggled – I loved it when Tara got all saucy (which was frequently because the girl had quite the temper).

Amelia shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine." But before we could make any guesses, the door creaked open to reveal a skinny old lady with what looked like a flaming rats nest of fire engine-red hair stuck on her head. Yep, that'd be Arlene Fowler, who sounded as pretty as she looked.

"Took you guys long enough. Principal de Castro has been waiting for you," she huffed. She turned around before Tara could make a stellar comeback like she was known to do. Guess there was a brain lurking behind the wrinkles and split ends.

"Okey dokey," Amelia laughed, dropping her compact into her canvas tote and following Arlene. Tara and I shuffled behind her, silently guffawing at Amelia's hilarious impersonation of the secretary's feeble attempt at walking normally in her ridiculously out of place high heels. Seriously, this was Bon Temps, where people think that dressing up means jeans and an unstained shirt. We're not in New York City, Toto, and never have been.

"Either she's trying to get a raise, or someone has a thing for Enrique Iglesias wannabes," Tara whispered into my ear. I sniggered, thinking about how Arlene always lingered around Principal de Castro's door and made him coffee about eight times a day. Personally, I thought she was sniffing up the wrong tree, but if it made her happy then good for her.

"Hush up, girls. Here's Principal de Castro's door, although I don't know why he insisted that I lead you here. Goodness knows you've been in the room too many times," Arlene snipped before stumbling back to her desk.

It didn't take long for Tara and Amelia to start joking about the secretary. Normally, I'd join in the conversation, but I was too busy ogling the man – no, god – that was visible through the small window in the door. Not Principal de Castro, of course – the only person that could do that was Arlene – but the guy sitting across from him.

He was so tall and big that he completely blocked de Castro from my view. His shaggy, shoulder-length blonde hair made me feel like I was watching a shampoo commercial – it was all messy and sexy in a natural way that no amount of styling product or willpower could ever create. His hair looked as golden as mine, and I wondered if that was supposed to mean something. His shoulders, although covered by a light-blue collared shirt, were broad and muscular, and I could see the faint outline of a tank top underneath the fabric. "That back is just begging to be scratched," I thought, hungrily licking my lips. I leaned in closer to the window, as if that would somehow bring me closer to this gorgeous man, only to thunk my head against the glass. Shit!

The man whipped his head around – Herbal Essences really needed to call him – to find out what caused the noise. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in my shocked face and the unabashed lust that was probably evident in my eyes. After a few seconds he smirked, causing my heart to pound like I had just sprinted down the soccer field and scored a goal. Never breaking eye contact, he rose out of his seat and strode towards the door. He was even better looking than his hair and back had led me to imagine, standing tall and lean at about 6'4". I never realized that a girl could have to struggle to keep her hands off a man, but here I was pawing at the door like a dog begging to be let in. It was somehow degrading, craving someone so…so…_voraciously _– SAT word – just because he was physically beautiful. I hadn't thought that was something girls did either. _How_ could de Castro have anything to do with this gorgeous guy?

Before I had time to stop gaping, the door was open and I was hit with this sensuous aroma of freshly clipped grass, mint, and something that I couldn't put a name on but was distinctly masculine. The phrase "Eau du hottie" came to mind, and I unconsciously closed my eyes and inhaled. "Oh perfect stranger," I thought, "When you smell like that, I just want to fuck you and bite you and rub myself all over you." But my x-rated thoughts were interrupted by a collective gasp from behind me and a poke in my upper arm from either Tara or Amelia. Shit, did I _say_ that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did he hear me?

One long, long glance up – he had to be a model, he was so freakin' tall – answered my last internal question, as his eyebrows looked like the golden arches and he was smirking even more than I would have thought humanly possible. Triple shit!

"Are you all right?" he asked. He was talking to me! That means I have to respond to him! That helped me flounder my way back to sanity through a swamp of lust. He was standing right in front of me, his hands resting on the top of the door frame that I was standing under. I looked up into his hypnotizing blue eyes, now focused on me with concerned amusement. I was right on level where the third button of his shirt was undone, revealing a slice of golden muscle and a necklace that looked like an anchor. Oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd…

"Excuse me," I said, speaking very softly. It worried me how faint and distant I sounded. He stared at me, waiting for me to continue, but my mouth was open and I couldn't seem to close it.

"Ah, Miss Sookie, Miss Amelia, and Miss Tara," Principal de Castro's nasally voice shook me out of my reverie. "Thanks for taking the time out of what I'm sure to be your extremely busy schedules to come and visit me in my humble office. Please, take a seat. You should know where they are."

The mysterious man shifted to the side of the doorway in order to let us in, and as I walked past him my shoulder brushed his firm, muscular torso. I heard a slight groan from somewhere, but couldn't tell where it came from. Was it me? Probably, given what had happened moments before. After taking a few steps I faltered – there were three armchairs in front of Principal de Castro's desk, but there were four people that were standing in the room. Shit, what do I do?

As if he could read my mind, the beautiful man walked past us to lean against the desk, so Amelia, Tara, and I would have to sit in the chairs. Blushing like a madwoman at the thought of sitting directly in front of this man and his legs and his lower body, I chose the chair farthest away from him. I didn't think it'd be possible to embarrass myself even more today, but I didn't want to take any chances.

"What did you want to talk to us about, Principal de Castro?" Tara innocently asked after a long, awkward pause. She always knew when to talk, even though she didn't always say the right things. I loved her.

"Ah yes, in a rare turn of events, I asked you into my office today not because of your actions or grades, but because of your extracurricular activities," he smoothly replied.

Say what? The only "extracurricular activity" that we did was soccer. Sure, it might not look the best on the college applications that we were filling out, but it was the only activity that we could truly get in to.

My mind flashbacked to the movie we watched at out last team sleepover, _She's The Man_. Yeah, it was a soccer movie. But anyways, Amanda Bynes's character is a really talented soccer player who comes back to school to find that the soccer program was cut. But we were three games into our season, led by a coach who had coached the team since before I was even on it. Of course life wouldn't imitate art…right?

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Coach Bill has quit the soccer program at Bon Temps. He's now the assistant coach at Mississippi State University. Apparently he and the head coach, Lorena something-or-other, used to coach together before he came to Bon Temps, and, well, he just couldn't refuse her offer. Sent me an email last week saying that his coaching salary could be given to you three; I guess he thought that you teenagers could coach yourselves, but the school handbook specifically states that students cannot do that. So, I did some 'googling,' I think the phrase is, and I found you guys a new coach," Principal de Castro explained.

I still didn't understand. Coach Bill left us? Coach Bill left me during my senior year? For this _Lorena_ chick and her team? And now we have to start playing with a new coach with new tactics during the middle of our season?

I thought my jaw was going to fall off because all of the gaping I had done in the past five minutes.

After giving us a moment to think about the heavy news he had just dropped on us, Principal de Castro continued, "So your new coach is going to be Eric Northman."

That's when the golden god, who had been serenely leaning against the desk watching our worlds come crashing down, straightened and ran his long fingers through his hair. He looked each of us in the eye, one at a time – and I could have sworn his eyes lingered on me the longest – before murmuring in a low, husky voice, "I can't wait to get to know you guys. We're going to have a lot of fun together, I can tell."

Oh. My. God.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow guys! I published this story (it's my first ever! eek!) and didn't really think anything about it, and when I finally sat down to check my email I was overwhelmed by the response! I felt like I was being hugged simultaneously by a bunch of cyber buddies! So thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I forgot to add this last chapter, but these characters do not belong to me, I'm just the babysitter for Charlaine Harris.**

**Also: I don't have a beta (which I probably should, considering I'll need one for the "Poppin' Eric's cherry – lemme know if you're an interested beta!) so all mistakes are mine.**

_That's when the golden god, who had been serenely leaning against the desk watching our worlds come crashing down, straightened and ran his long fingers through his hair. He looked each of us in the eye, one at a time – and I could have sworn his eyes lingered on me the longest – before murmuring in a low, husky voice, "I can't wait to get to know you guys. We're going to have a lot of fun together, I can tell."_

_Oh. My. God._

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Slightly shocked, I peered over at Tara and Amelia. Amelia was smiling and looking cheerful, but hey – she's Amelia, she's always smiling and looking cheerful. Next to Amelia was Tara, slumped in the uncomfortable chair, hands crossed over her tank top-clad chest. She was glaring at the floor with her eyebrows furrowed and her lips mumbling. I was reminded of my favorite scene from _Friends_, in which Joey gives out acting lessons and says that when he has to act like he received bad news, he just tries to divide 232 by 13 in his head.

All of a sudden I started laughing. But not "yay, you're my coach" giggling or "I can't wait for the next practice" titters, but banshee howling, knee-slapping, crazy Sookie madwoman cackles that usually come out of my big fat mouth when I feel extremely nervous. Like now, for example.

Even though my eyes were closed and I was rocking my head back and forth, I could sense that everyone was gawking at me. At least my chortles dissolved the awkward tension hanging in the room.

After a while, I gained control of my convulsions, and the laughing ceases. Wiping tears and makeup from my now raccoon/Alice Cooper eyes, I saw Amelia and Tara's "Oh my god, shut up if you know what's good for you" looks and Eric's gorgeous face twisted into an expression that looks half amused and half terrified.

Well, if he's gonna be my new coach he's just gonna have to get used to my Sookie-isms.

"Sorry," I mumbled to my lap, "It's just that this is so weird and it makes me feel like we're part of a television show or something." Amelia patted my knee and handed me her mirror compact. Dunno when she managed to pull that out of her bag, but I appreciated the gesture and threw her a weak smile. I checked my eyes, only a slight smudge of mascara but nothing that couldn't be removed with a tissue.

"No worries, Sookie. I understand that this isn't the most ideal situation for you guys – after all, you're stuck with a new coach that you have to adjust to during the middle of your last high school soccer season. I think it's pretty, um, bizarre too. But I'm sure that we will work together, to make a fantastic television show cast and win lots of awards," Eric quickly responded in his low voice. I detected a flirty hint of an accent, but I couldn't tell where it was from. I live in Bon Temps after all – if it's not Cajun, Texan, Mississippian, Southern, or Northern, then I don't know what it is.

I nodded into Eric's sky-blue eyes. We stayed like that for a moment, just gazing at each other, sniffing the other one out.

"Well said, Eric," Principal de Castro harrumphed, breaking the spell. "That's pretty much it. Eric has agreed to meet with the team after school today. He has also persuaded me to give you girls a half-day of school, so that you can use your lunch break and the rest of the day to bond and discuss strategy with him before practice, befitting your titles as captains. It's not the most conventional thing, but he has helped me realize that this isn't exactly the most conventional situation. Don't get used to it though – I'm only allowing this because I want to keep up our six-year running streak as league champions. I love saying that at the semi-annual country principal breakfasts. You are dismissed."

I quickly picked up my backpack and slipped out the door. A quick glance showed that I was being followed by Amelia, Tara…and Eric? We walked down the corridor in silence, not knowing what to say. As we exited the office, Eric coughed.

"Are…can you guys drive?" he asked. Where did that come from?! I spun around to look at him, and Amelia and Tara followed suit.

After narrowing her eyes, Tara replied, "Yep, we're all legal and we each have our own car. Can _you_ drive?"

Eric looked startled, then shook his head like an Etch-A-Sketch and grinned.

"Yes, I can drive, Tara. I'm sorry if it seemed like I was questioning your maturity or something like that. I was wondering if you guys wanted to eat lunch with me outside of the school cafeteria. I mean, I don't know about you, but when given a free lunch break I'd prefer to eat out at a restaurant instead of slumming in the school cafeteria. I just wanted to know if I'd have to pick you all up to go out."

"Oh. Okay then. We have no problem meeting you off campus to eat. Good idea, but do you have anything in mind?" Tara asked, apparently appointing herself the official spokeswoman of our group.

"Well, I'm kind of new to town. As in, I haven't found a house or apartment yet and am sleeping on the couch at a friend's place in Shreveport. So I don't really have anything in mind – but something tells me that you do."

Although I wasn't part of the conversation, I smiled at Eric's response. Guy has only spent a couple minutes with Tara and already knows how to act around with her. What has he figured out about me?

"I'm thinking Merlotte's Bar and Grill. Sookie and I work there, and we even go there when we're not working, so you know the grub's good. You can meet us in the student parking lot at 12, and you can follow us there."

He simply said, "Sounds like a plan. See you then" before turning to walk down the hallway. His tight Levis hugged his toned ass in such a way that I involuntarily moaned. I heard a similar sound come from my right and saw Amelia catching flies in her mouth – and she doesn't usually look at guys _or_ their asses! Even Tara looked mesmerized, and she's been dating Eggs, the hot football quarterback, since last spring.

"I'm so glad I'll be able to see that perfect butt in a pair of soccer shorts," I breathed.

"Thank God I didn't actually pretend to be sick today," Amelia sighed.

Just then, whist still walking, Eric swiveled his head to look back at us, so we could only see the left side of his face. He winked, almost like he had heard what we had said with some freakish supersonic hearing. Turning around to look forward again, he raised his arm, making it look like a backwards L, and gave a small wave with a flick of his wrist.

He then walked out the door, his tall frame illuminated by the glowing sunlight from outside. He looked like an angel flying away from us.

As much as I loved looking at his butt, I was sad when I realized that I was only able to do so because he was leaving me.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Lunch time couldn't come soon enough. I felt like stabbing my pen into every kid who asked a question or every teacher who took too long explaining their notes. Even my independent study seemed to drag on forever. FINALLY, it was twelve o'clock – game time. I met up with Tara and Amelia at my locker, and together we walked out to the student parking lot

It didn't take long for us to spy the beautiful vision that was Eric Northman leaning up against the hood of a flashy red Corvette. He had taken off his collared shirt, so he was just wearing a plain white ribbed tank top (and the damn anchor necklace I peeked at before) and dark jeans, with a pair of very large – ahh! – black Puma indoor soccer shoes. He looked the part of the extremely hot soccer coach, which I guess he was.

"Good afternoon, girls," Eric greeted us.

"Good afternoon, Eric," we accidentally replied in unison. Damn it, we sounded like Charlie's Angels, and I could feel a smile invading my face at the thought. Looking at Eric, he seemed to be thinking the same thing as me, as there was an extra twinkle in his eye when he saw my reaction.

"Alright, how are we going to do this?" he smoothly asked.

"Um…I have a low tank of gas in my BMW 'cause I forgot to fill up this morning. And Tara lives at Sookie's house and Sookie drove this morning…so it looks like you're going to be following her bright yellow Datsun, Eric. Coach Eric. Coach. Wait, what are we supposed to call you? Sorry, Mr. Northman," Amelia babbled. Tara nudged me, and without her saying anything I knew what she meant – it was so out of the ordinary for Amelia to get all worked up and self-conscious, especially over a man.

Laughing, Eric responded, "Good question, Amelia. Any of the names you mentioned are fine with me, except Mr. Northman. That was my dad. Besides that, anything's fair game except for, you know, "Baby Killer" or "He-Who-Pisses-On-Flowers" or whatever. And --"

I suddenly blurted, "What about Northman? Does that work for you?" and instantly felt like hitting myself on the forehead. Gran always warned me about the damages of alcohol on a growing mind, often using my older brother Jason as an example (and given the fact that at the ripe old age of 23 he asked me if he was going to go to hell because he had made cross-shaped pancakes but accidentally burned them, she kind of had a point), but I never really paid attention until now. I stood there blushing furiously at my feet and cursing the brain cells that were killed off by my nights of partying. Why did my social skill neurons have to be wiped out when the stupid cells that allowed me to remember the lyrics of every Britney Spears song survived?

Eric cracked up again. At least he was enjoying it. After he calmed down, he replied, "You can call me Northman if and only if I can call you Stackhouse."

"Deal," I replied, and spit in my hand before extending it forward. Without missing a beat, Eric did the same thing and we shook hands. I gleefully noted that the first time we touched we exchanged spit. Hmm…

"So, Stackhouse, are you okay with driving? Does that work for you?"

I grinned, not missing that he was repeating my words back to me. Hey, he was paying attention to what I was saying. Good boy.

"I'm down with it if you can keep up, Northman. Although I don't think that your car can ride as beautifully as she looks," I jeered while walking towards my trusty old car. Sure, she wasn't shining as brightly as the Corvette, but I loved my Datsun like a soccer player loves David Beckham. I barely heard the chirp of the unlock button that I pressed due to the volume of Eric's guffaws. I smiled knowing that I was the one who made him laugh the hardest.

I popped the trunk and chucked my back pack inside; Tara did too, although Amelia delicately placed her bag on top of mine. I had gone for a swim and tanning session at the local pond yesterday and had forgotten to remove my wet towel and bikini from the trunk. Oh well.

As soon as everyone was buckled in –believe me, I checked – Amelia screeched, "OMG Sookie! You were such a little flirt back there, I felt like a proud mama watching her kid ride a bike for the first time!"

"Amelia! I can be pretty sassy when I want to be! Although I have to confess, I think my flirting skills went all autopilot on me, because I had a serious case of word vomit when I asked if I could call him Northman."

"Awwh, who cares? You should do that more often – or maybe let someone else take control of you for a while? Hmmm…?"

Unable to come up with a response to that, I shook my head in disbelief. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tara doing the same thing in the passenger seat. Amelia, on the other hand, was cackling like a witch over her cleverness and wit.

"BEEP BEEP!"

I had forgotten about Eric while talking with Amelia – oops! I beeped back before pulling out of my parking spot (and I made sure that I did so with such skill that a drivers-ed teacher would have bought me a new car) and started weaving my way through the parking lot. I plugged my iPod into my speakers (the only new thing about my car; I had installed a new sound system when I found out I was going to be a captain) and sped out of the school parking lot feeling like a bad ass – I made sure Steppenwolf's "Born To Be Wild" was blaring out my windows.

We didn't talk a lot on the scenic drive to Merlotte's – I guess everyone felt as nervous as I did – but that changed when we were stopped at a red light and suddenly heard the faint strains of that oldie-but-goody, "I'm Too Sexy" What the hell? I turned my iPod off and glanced in my rearview mirror to see Eric with the biggest, sexiest smirk splashed across his face. I gasped, and Amelia and Tara turned around too. Once he saw that we were looking, he immediately started lip-syncing and "raising the roof" with his hands. His sparkling blue eyes were staring directly into mine, almost willing me to laugh. I couldn't help it, and Tara and Amelia couldn't either; we were doubled over with laughter (quite literally in my case, I thought my seatbelt was going to strangle me) and didn't see that the light had turned green until Eric beeped his horn. Of course, that just gave us another reason to have a laugh attack. Once he beeped again, I composed myself enough to drive through the intersection and pulled into Merlotte's mostly empty parking lot to park my car.

After checking my eyes in the mirror (I knew I put too much mascara on this morning!) I threw my keys into my purse and got out of the car. Eric backed up into the space next to mine (was he showing off for me like I did for him back in the parking lot?) and unfolded himself out of his tiny sports car. I raised my eyebrow and he reciprocated the gesture, daring me to comment on his parking job and why I thought he felt the need to do it.

"Cher?"

What? How did Eric know my quasi nick name? Only Sam called me that. I gaped at him in astonishment, but he wasn't looking at me – he was glaring at my right shoulder… but it'd make more sense if he was probably glaring at someone behind me.

I swiveled around to be greeted with the sight of my boss, Sam Merlotte, briskly walking towards us. If I thought that my daily fill of male hotties was at maximum capacity, I was wrong – Sam was hot in his own way. He had bright blue eyes and flaming reddish gold hair, and he looked sunburned and healthy, like he usually was. Today, like most days, he was wearing his unofficial uniform of worn jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt; the jeans were a little muddy on the bottom, and there were holes in the knees of this particular pair. His slightly wrinkled plaid shirt was unbuttoned at the top and he had rolled up the sleeves, like he didn't want to be constricted by the extra fabric. Everything about Sam was lively and energetic, but I always felt like he was hiding something from me. Then again, he's my boss and the owner of Merlotte's, so it's not like he's obligated to tell his life story to the high school girl who works as a part-time waitress.

"Sookie! What's goin' on here? Why aren't you in school? Is everything okay? How can I help?" he barked, placing his warm hands on my shoulders and pulling me towards him so he could scan my face for any physical or emotional damage.

He was very protective of me, with good reason: my boobs, butt, and blond hair (or the stinging bees, as Amelia liked to say) sometimes caused unwanted rowdiness when I worked the late late shift on the weekends. I could always count on Sam to thunder over to anyone, even a three-hundred-pound drunk trucker who wanted a piece of ass to go with his chicken finger basket, and tell them off with a baseball bat or some harsh words. I loved Sam like a brother, but even Jason wasn't this protective of me!

As I was thinking that, Sam's fiery eyes darted over to where Eric was standing; they narrowed menacingly.

"Sookie, cher, who is this?" Sam asked apprehensively. I thought I heard a faint growl, but Sam wasn't that much of an alpha dog slash macho-man, was he?

"Sam! Hey! Relax, alright? This is Eric Northman, he's our new soccer coach – Bill quit! Can you believe that? I'll tell you all about it tonight before my shift, but our principal gave us a half day so we could get to know Eric and his coaching style, so we decided to skedaddle over here to grab a bite. And anyways, aren't you glad to see me when I'm not in a dirty uniform and all sweaty and tired?"

"Yeah, and you know it too, cher," he grinned.

"Of course I do! And Eric, this is Sam Merlotte. He's the, uh, owner of this fine establishment."

I watched the two men shake hands, and internally sighed. Stupid boys – like showing more veins when touching someone's hand proved that they had a bigger dick? And they thought we were weird for wanting a friend to accompany us to the ladies room…

They released hands after a few seconds, which allowed Sam to see who else was watching their weird little exchange.

"Hey Tara, Amelia. Sorry I didn't say hi earlier," Sam said semi-apologetically. Amelia smiled, but in typical Tara fashion, a smile wasn't enough for her.

"Like you should be! Where's your sense of chivalry? Those fancy-ass cowboy boots of yours can only be worn by true Southern gentlemen, you know. Didn't the instructions manual come in the box?" she joked, kneading out some of the strained tension. Everyone chuckled.

"You're absolutely correct, Tara. I just haven't studied it in a while. So tell me, ladies, what else would the perfect Southern gentleman do? I'm open to suggestions, but I don't think I can rock a Rhett Butler mustache with my unique coloring and model-perfect facial features," Sam cracked right back, easily offering his arm to my two friends in an overly dramatic gesture. The two girls accepted, and together they started to walk towards the restaurant, leaving me and Eric awkwardly standing next to our cars. Sam never turned back.

"Um, sorry about that. Sam can be kind of territorial about me," I tried to explain. Eric just looked at me.

"Uhh…okay, then. You hungry? Merlotte's is really more of a hangout than a restaurant, but the food's great. I always order the same thing: the Sookie sandwich. It's even on the menu and everything, but I guess you'll see that once we go in," I finished weakly.

"You have your own sandwich? And I thought I couldn't get any more jealous. Tell me, Stackhouse, what did you have to do?" Eric smiled, motioning for us to start following the others. Couldn't get any more jealous? Did that have anything to do with the whole thing with Sam? Was Eric trying to tell me he was jealous of that, or was I just reading too much in his simple actions? Holy moly, I sounded like the whiny girls who always asked _Teen Vogue_ or _CosmoGirl!_ for advice on their crushes and shit. Put your game face on, Sookie.

"Well, the legend of the Sookie sandwich begins about a year ago, when I first started working here. It was a Saturday night and I had just finished my first late late shift – it was about 1:30 am or so – and I felt like I finished a marathon, I was so tired and sore. I was waiting around for my paycheck, and Sam had to take a phone call and promised to give me the money when he finished. Before he left, my stomach grumbled, but it sounded more like an adult Simba-worthy roar, I was so hungry."

An appreciative snort from Eric encouraged me to continue.

"So he said that while I waited I could make myself something to eat. And I was so hungry and so tired that I just started grabbing anything with nutritional value. I didn't even look at what I snatched. And I made my sandwich and was munching on it when Sam came out of his office and burst out laughing. Of course that scared the life out of me and I dropped my sandwich on my makeshift paper towel plate, but once I looked down and saw what was in my hands, I could see why he was laughing. I had been eating this Frankenstein sandwich, or this culinary science project gone horribly wrong. It was, in this order, bun, turkey, cheddar cheese, peanuts, turkey, barbeque potato chips, American cheese, pretzels, grilled chicken breast, French fries, regular potato chips, Swiss cheese, bun. And you know what? Best sandwich I'd ever tasted – a superlative Sam agreed with once he calmed down enough to take a bite. Like, it was so bad it's good, you know? And the Sookie sandwich has been on the menu ever since."

Eric chortled again, "That's hilarious. I think I know what I'm gonna order now, just to ensure that I suffer a heart attack even if I'm not terrified of meeting my new team."

"Heyyy!" I countered, swatting his arm. He darted ahead to hold the door for me, and we walked inside.

Sam had already led Tara and Amelia to my favorite booth, right next to the jukebox, and was looking inquisitively at us. My two friends were sitting next to each other on one side of the table, wearing the same devilish grin that only widened when I slid into the booth and Eric followed suit.

"Alright, so Amelia and Tara already professed their love of lemonade, what can I get you two?" Sam asked.

"An ice water would be awesome, thanks," answered Eric.

"I'll have a glass of sweet tea, Sam," I followed.

With that, Sam returned to the bar. Amelia and Tara began flipping through their menus, but stopped once they sensed that Eric and I weren't.

"What? Aren't you guys eating?" Amelia asked.

"We both know what we're getting," Eric suavely answered. "Sookie sandwiches. Right, Stackhouse?" He glanced at me for conformation.

"Right, Northman. And as always, I highly suggest that you two ladies do the same," I giggled, knowing what they thought about my masterpiece.

"No thanks, I'll be having the Cesar salad," Amelia responded, wrinkling her nose at the thought of ingesting the Sookie sandwich and all of its heavenly calories.

"Negative for me too. Sorry, Sooks, but you know I'm in a monogamous relationship with the cheeseburger here," Tara giggled.

"Alright, so I know Tara's getting the cheeseburger and Sookie's getting her sandwich. What else?" Sam inquired, gliding up to the table and placing our drinks down.

Amelia asked for the rabbit food and Eric ordered the Sookie sandwich. When he said that, Sam's eyes shifted to me for a second before going back to Eric.

"No problem. It'll probably be about ten minutes," he said, gathering our menus and walking away.

After a brief pause, Eric implored, "Is it always this empty here? I can see why you two are able to hold your jobs here!" He had a point, though – besides Sam, there was just Detective Andy Bellefleur, already nursing a pint of beer, and a couple of women from my Gran's club, the Descendents of the Glorious Dead.

I waved at them before answering, "Well, it gets busy after local sports games, especially football and girls soccer, or if there's a game on TV. And it is a Monday afternoon, you know."

Eric ignored the jab, asking, "Do you come here after your soccer games?" But the "you" wasn't collective – if his piercing gaze meant anything, he was just asking me. Gulp.

"Of course! Sam usually has a Sookie sandwich waiting for me by the time I arrive. And we'll dance and unwind here in order to release some adrenaline and pent-up energy if we played a good match. You'll see."

"You know, Eric, we always tried to get Bill to dance if the team won. He never did, and, well, that just made us girls feel sad and unloved. I bet that if you promised to join us on the dance floor after a sweet victory, a lot of the other players would take to you pretty quick," Amelia chirped.

Eric raised his eyebrows and murmured, "That can be arranged. I have been told that I am an excellent dancer. But tell me, what else should I do to ease the transition of power from Bill to me?"

Amelia looked slightly stunned with his suggestively ambiguous statement. Hey, I'm sure I did too. I tucked that piece of information in the mental filing cabinet in my brain to be used if our team ever needed a pep talk during a game.

"Well, Bill wasn't any fun – he was so serious. He'd play all the starters even if we were up by five, which totally isn't right. He was also crazy protective of us, like if it was a Friday night he'd run a longer practice so that by the time we were done it was too late to go out. And you'll find this out yourself, but even though we practice really hard and stay focused and serious during soccer time, we need a social life too. I mean, don't get me wrong, soccer's my number one priority and I have no problem missing a party to practice, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that don't overdo it just to say that you ran a three hour practice. Overdo it because we need it. You know what I mean," I rambled. Believe me, I could have written a book about what Bill did wrong – maybe even ten!

"I know exactly what you mean. I need to push buttons only when necessary. Wouldn't you say so, Stackhouse?" he practically purred.

Unfortunately, when he said that, I was sipping my sweet tea; I snorted it all my pretty white sundress with bright red flowers. Damn, that was my favorite outfit too! And once the tea dried it'd look like I got my period. Double damn.

The rest of the table burst out laughing. Tara and Amelia were grabbing each other in mirth, whereas Eric just threw his head back and bellowed. After a while he opened his eyes and saw the pool of liquid staining my dress. He grabbed a stack of napkins and made a move like he was going to help me clean myself up, but then realized where he'd have to clean me and thought better of it. He wordlessly passed me the napkins, refusing to look at me. Or it.

"Sookie, you're all wet down there! What are you going to do about it? Need any help?" Tara smirked. Eric winced, I groaned, and Amelia cracked up even more.

And of course Sam chose to approach the table with our food as soon as Tara uttered the filthiest remark that I ever heard (and I had my share of hearing filthy remarks, thanks to my job and my brother). He whipped his head towards me and I gave him a "don't even think about it" face. Thankfully, he got the message and just placed out plates on the table before scurrying back to the bar.

No one responded to Tara's remark; the food was that distracting. While we munched Eric asked about the other girls on the team, what kind of drills we did at practice, whether or not we had any plays, and what the other teams were in the league. Sounds kinda boring, but we were all soccer enthusiasts so the talk flowed and continued even after Sam cleared the table. Eric insisted on paying the bill – "After all, you're here because of me. But we'll be even when you have to buy me some drinks in order to get me dancing," he quipped – and after waving goodbye to Sam, we meandered over to our cars.

While fishing for my keys in my purse, I groped my cell phone and turned it on to look at the time. It was 2:30, and we had fifteen minutes to drive back to the high school, change into our practice apparel, and drive over to the soccer fields. I mentioned this to Eric, but he didn't seem surprised or worried. Instead, he looked…smug.

"Don't worry about it. I told Principal de Castro to tell the rest of the team to meet at the high school at 3:30."

"Oh, okay. Can I ask why?"

"Yes," he deadpanned. He looked down to see me fuming. I refused to answer; two can play that game, and I'm pretty competitive when it comes to any type of competition.

He sighed, knowing what I was doing.

"I figured that because this was my first time meeting the team, I wanted our first practice to be fun and memorable. From what I've heard from you guys and your principal and the boy's coach, right now I shouldn't be worrying about whether or not you guys are in shape. You're used to running and playing, but you're not used to having me as a coach. So today we're going to bond and get to know each other. But mainly, I just want you guys to like me, even if for a day, because you most definitely won't be feeling the love tomorrow when I make you guys do push-ups and agility ladders and full-field sprints and bleacher up-downs," Eric explained, smirking at the last sentence. I stopped walking for a second, scared to think that I might hate Eric in twenty-four hours, until I looked at his face and saw that he was kidding.

"Damn, Stackhouse. How on earth did you manage to be captain if you can't take a joke and you stop functioning whenever running is mentioned?" He kidded.

"Very funny, Northman. But you didn't answer my quasi-question. What are we doing today?"

"Hmm…I think I'm gonna let you wait until 3:30. But it's only fair that I tell you to bring a bathing suit, unless, you know, you want to make a really good first impression and go skinny dipping."

**Just a head's up- I completely guessed on what kind of car Sookie drives. I knew it was a yellow one both in SVM and TB, but can't remember the model. I **_**skimmed**_** (so in this case, didn't read) ****Dead Until Dark**** and googled "Sookie Stackhouse car" and stuff, but just didn't come up with the goods. To be honest, I don't have the time to reread the entire SVM series (as much as I'd like to!) and rewatch both seasons of TB (again, as much as I'd like to!) so I'm just leaving it as a Datsun for two reasons: 1.) I googled what a Datsun looks like and it seemed similar to the car Sookie drives in TB and 2.) Chris McCandless drove a yellow Datsun (if you're blanking on the name, I HIGHLY suggest reading AND/or watching **_**Into The Wild**_**. Or at least check out Eddie Vedder's awesome soundtrack). Anyways, I guess what I'm saying is that I know the Datsun might not be Sookie's car – I'm not pretending it is – so if it isn't, I apologize. Feel free to PM me the page number/website that has the description of her car.**

**As for new chapters…once a week? I know, I know. But I'm a seventeen-year-old high school senior (in senior year fall, no less) and there's a lot on my schedule and literary plate. In fact, you might have noticed that I published this story on November 1****st****, which is the first due date for early action college applications for some universities and colleges. Yes, that is not just a coincidence. After reading so many awesome fanfic stories (and procrastinating on this sight like it was my job), I have wanted to write and publish my own, but I always had applications or forms to fill out and college essays and short answers to write – plus my regular homework load, which is, quite frankly, rediculous. I promised myself that if I got all my applications in by the November 1****st**** due date, then I'd publish a story – which I did! So right now there's a lull in my college stuff (unfortunately, the same can't be said of my massive homework load, damn AP's!) so I feel pretty confident in writing a chapter a week. Just keep that in mind. I won't forget about you guys, pinky-swear!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Just like Sookeh doesn't belong to Beel, these characters don't belong to me. **

**And a big thanks/merci/gracias to my beta, ShutterbugMom!!**

* * *

"_Very funny, Northman. But you didn't answer my quasi-question. What are we doing today?"_

"_Hmm…I think I'm gonna let you wait until 3:30. But it's only fair that I tell you to bring a bathing suit, unless, you know, you want to make a really good first impression and go skinny dipping."_

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Taking advantage of our shocked silence, Eric warned, "Don't be late," before bolting out of the parking lot. After a couple seconds, we recovered enough to jump in my car. Unlike the trip to Merlotte's, the drive back to the high school was composed of lots of giggles and comments about Eric's infuriatingly vague statement.

"Maybe Eric asked the janitors to put the sprinklers on during our practice, so we can play while getting wet," Amelia supplied.

"God, I hope we're not having a team tanning session. I think I'd kick Eric's soccer balls if that's his stupid surprise," Tara responded.

"Wrong. We're playing a three-hour game of 'Drip, Drip, Drop', and I know that for a fact," I deadpanned.

"Wait, seriously? That would be so, so cool. But, how did you know that? Did he tell you?" Amelia asked, clapping her hands in delight.

"What? No! I was just kidding. I have no clue what we're doing, but I'm sure whatever it is will be awesome," I replied.

We then moved on to discussing what bathing suits we'd wear, and soon we were back at Bon Temps High. I dropped Amelia off and drove home with Tara. Thankfully, we talked about decidedly non-Eric topics, like what bands were currently on tour and what books we were reading. It was a refreshing change.

Gran was on the front porch reading a Danielle Steele novel and drinking lemonade when I pulled into our long driveway.

She did a double take when she saw me, questioning, "Honey, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at practice?"

Tara and I filled her in on Bill's betrayal, and how Eric stepped up to rescue us.

"What? That Bill acted like he was the perfect Southern gentleman to me. Sookie, remember when he let me show his great-great granddaddy's musket to the Descendents of the Glorious Dead meeting? And that was only two days after I met him! He was such a nice boy," she exclaimed. She always had a soft spot for Bill.

"Don't ask me, Gran. I mean, I thought I knew him pretty well, but now I guess I never did. But anyways, we have to be at the high school at 3:30, and we have to grab bathing suits and towels, so we better hurry up. I can't wait to tell you what happens at our first practice after I come home from my shift at Merlotte's."

She leaned over to ruffle my curls, saying, "Me too, hon."

Tara and I scampered to our separate rooms, and I quickly threw my favorite white bikini on underneath a regular pair of navy soccer shorts and a light blue "Bon Temps Class of 2010" t-shirt. I also packed my Merlotte's uniform –a simple white tee with the Merlotte's logo and a pair of black shorts – into a bag, along with socks, a clean bra and a pair of undies. Deodorant, fanny pack (for my tips, of course) and a mini-tube of body lotion soon followed. I stuffed my old Reeboks into the bag too, and slipped into the pair of plastic flip flops that were by my desk.

A quick glance in the mirror showed that despite my hysterical crying spells, I still looked okay. Not that it mattered, seeing as I was going to get wet.

"Sooks, you ready?" Tara hollered from downstairs.

"Yep," I yelled back, jumping down the stairs two at a time. Tara was wearing cut offs and a see-through white t-shirt that revealed a deep purple bikini that complemented her Hershey chocolate skin. She had already grabbed towels and water bottles and was hovering anxiously near the door. Once she saw me, she pulled the handle and started speed-walking to my car.

I stopped to give Gran a kiss on the cheek before hurrying after Tara. Although she had been fidgeting and nervously glancing at the clock while I drove back to the high school, we got there at 3:20 exactly.

The rest of the team was already sitting or leaning on their cars when we arrived. I parked in the closest available spot and was verbally assaulted as soon as I opened the car.

"Sookie, what's he like?

"Is our new coach hot?"

"Amelia wouldn't tell us anything! Puh-lease tell us, Sookie!"

"What are his credentials?"

_Wait, what were Eric's credentials_?

All of my past coaches had immediately introduced themselves by saying what teams they had coached and whether they had played professionally. Eric didn't do any of that. He didn't even say if he had experience coaching a team! And Principal de Castro said he just googled him – there were all sorts of crazies out there in cyber space!

_I knew he was too good to be true!_

My internal freak-out session was interrupted when I saw a shadow fall over me. I looked up to see Eric, standing about ten feet away from us, hands on his navy board short-covered hips, modeling flip flops and a tight grey tee. I could see the outline of the hard contours of his chest. He had pulled his hair back and tied it with a leather strip, but he must have forgotten about it because he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair, causing some golden strands to break free of the ponytail. Of course that just made him look even hotter.

Surveying the collective group of gawking girls in front of him, he smiled and began, "Most of you don't know me, but I'm your new coach, Eric Northman. I was recruited to play for the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill as a striker, but I tore my ACL my senior year, when I was captain of the team. After getting my degree in sports journalism, I worked for the sports section of the local newspaper and was the assistant coach for the women's Tar Heels soccer squad for two years. But I became bored with my surroundings, and a couple of weeks ago, when a close friend needed a sports agent, I jumped at the chance and moved down here. Because that's a part time job, I have been waiting for some local coaching spots to open around here, and when Principal de Castro contacted me I knew this was the right thing for me to do. And after visiting your school and meeting your captains, now I really know that this is the right thing for me."

He stopped and took a deep breath. He looked…nervous. All of the bravado and merriment that was displayed at Merlotte's had dimmed noticeably. I thought he was just goofing off when he said he wanted us to like him, but his eyes showed that he had really meant it.

He continued, "So you've probably gathered that I'm relatively young for a coach, and that this is in fact my first time coaching at a high school level. I'm not worried about that, and you guys shouldn't be either. I have the benefit of playing and coaching at the collegiate level, and working with professional soccer teams and players, so I should have no trouble adjusting. And I hope that you will have no trouble adjusting to me as your new coach. That's why I planned this unusual soccer practice, but I'm sure that you guys will like it. Anyone who doesn't can take some laps around the field...kidding!"

He smiled at his lame joke, and the rest of the team did too. I could see the girls warming up to him already, although that _might_ have something to do with his overall hotness.

"So, now that everyone's met you, can you please, please, please enlighten us as to why we are all wearing bathing suits? Are we playing "Drip, Drip, Drop" like Sookie said?" Amelia asked.

Eric threw me a "what the hell?" look before answering, "No, Amelia, we are not playing "Drip, Drip, Drop" – whatever that is. I hope that isn't a kind of euphemism, although if Stackhouse mentioned it there's a very real possibility that it might be."

The rest of the team broke out laughing, myself included. They all knew that despite my partying, I was a relatively sweet Southern belle who kept her V-card close to her body at all times and states of inebriation.

"Oh, shut it, Northman. You should be thankful that we haven't planned an insane initiation rite for you! Although, if you keep acting like this, we might have to reconsider," I countered.

He beamed at me, laughing, "Noted and understood. Now, I believe we were talking about why bathing apparel was necessary. I decided that for our first practice we could just chill out by the pond; maybe get a grill going later on if you want. How does that sound?"

We all cheered – Bill would never show up to our annual end-of-the-year bonfires at the pond, and with the exception of the usual post-game gathering at Merlotte's, didn't really hang out with us at non-sporting events. Besides, today was perfect swimming weather, with the sun and the warm temperature. And, of course, Eric would probably take his shirt off.

"Alright, last one there plays soccer like a girl!" Eric joked, running to his car. The rest of the girls headed off to their appropriate vehicles, and everyone made it to the pond within a couple of minutes.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

When I first pulled up, I thought that someone had organized a birthday party, and we were intruding. There was a volleyball net that was set up and surrounded by inflated beach balls, and there were unfolded beach chairs, towels, and blankets placed on the beach. Two coolers teeming with drinks sat in the sand, and what looked like an entire grocery-aisle's amount of snacks was laid out on the biggest table under the pavilion, next to a large portable iPod player. The graphitized picnic tables were covered with white tablecloths, and the entire perimeter of the eating area was marked with exotic tiki torches. I was confused until I realized that the candles of the tiki torches were little soccer balls.

Eric had done this? Eric had set this up? He must have come here immediately after Merlotte's in order to get everything organized.

It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me – even though technically he did it for the team. Everyone else was "oohing" and "ahhing" over the improvements Eric had made to the otherwise plain beach.

Some of the girls drifted over to the eating area, and others immediately shucked off their clothes and ran screaming into the waters. I did neither, choosing instead to strip to my bathing suit and sit on the side of the dock, dipping my feet in the cool water and working on my tan. After a mind-blowing day full of revelations and re-awakening, I needed some 'me' time.

I idly watched my friends splash each other, or play volleyball. If Bill hadn't left, they wouldn't have been laughing and smiling as much as they were now. They were never this open and unguarded around Bill; his distant behavior always broadcasted that he was the coach and we were his players.

Eric didn't adhere to that philosophy. If tonight was a sneak peek at how Eric handled us, then we would be a real team with Eric…almost like a family. If Eric said we could talk to him on or off the field, then he would actually mean it; whenever Bill said that, he'd shoot us looks that showed he really didn't want us to take him up on his offer. I could tell Eric didn't do anything half-heartedly, that he thought anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

I felt the dock move and looked over to see Eric climbing up the ladder to the dock from the water about thirty yards away. He hadn't seen me; his eyes were closed in mock-agony as some of the girls in the water splashed him from behind. Screaming and laughing, he curled up into a fetal position as soon as he was on the dock so that he wouldn't be as exposed to the splashes.

Even though his head was somewhere under his very ripped arms, I could hear him yell, "You'll never get me!" before he started rolling down the dock as if it were a large hill. As he approached me I shrieked, "Northman!" He instantly stopped and stuck his head out to see who was warning him.

"Didn't see you there, Stackhouse," he grinned, crawling over until he was sitting next to me, his muscular legs touching my clean shaven stems. His close proximity made me a little nervous, especially due to the fact that he was half-naked and was so close to me that little droplets of water dripped off of his practically naked body onto mine. He was so golden and so perfect; the only physical flaw, a bullet-sized scar on his shoulder, seemed to make him even more magnificent. You could tell he was an athlete, but not one of the meatheads who looked like they ate a pound of steak for breakfast and worked out six hours a day. He was long and lean and gorgeous, and I was at a loss for words.

Thankfully, he didn't try to force small talk, a quality that I really admired but rarely saw. Instead, he seemed as content as I was to just enjoy the moment. His eyes shone as he looked at the excited faces of his new players. He looked like a kid who had managed to surprise his parents and therefore felt extremely proud of himself.

"I hope it's always like this," Eric murmured, still watching the girls play around.

"Me too…I wish I could save moments like these in a jar for when I need them, because today I think I've had a couple extra."

He chuckled and turned to peer down at me. Nudging my arm, he said, "Sookie, you have unexpected depth."

I blurted, "Eric, you have unexpected character." Only this time I didn't regret my word-vomit. I wanted Eric to know what I thought of him. He'd had the intelligence to give me what I really wanted – a time when I could relax and still be serious, a place where I could lower my shields and not care about how I looked and what I said or did. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him . . . I mean, it. Appreciated _it._

"What do you mean?" I looked up and could see the white all around the blue of his eyes.

"You're nothing like someone would assume you'd be like. You're gorgeous, but you're not a snob. You're intelligent, but you don't make people feel stupid. You're older, but you still get excited about little things like lazy afternoons and new sandwiches. It'd be easy for you to sit back and have everyone else give you whatever you wanted because of your looks or your brain or your talent, but you don't. You're better than that. And that's why you have unexpected character."

"And that's why you have unexpected depth," he murmured, bringing his arm around my shoulder to pull me closer to him in a sideways hug. I leaned my head against his shoulder and slipped my arm around his waist, not caring that he was all wet, not caring that anyone might be watching.

We stayed like that for a couple moments until Eric released me. I didn't scoot back to my original spot, and he didn't move away either.

"Stackhouse, did you say I was intelligent?"

"Yes." I swatted his arm.

"And Stackhouse, did you say I wasn't a snob?"

"Yes." The swat became a push.

"And Stackhouse, did you say I was gorgeous?"

"Yes." And now the push became a shove.

He didn't seem that affected, protesting, "Hey! I just wanted to double check. I have perfect ears, but I don't hold my superior listening skills over everybody, like someone else would have!"

"Oh, that's enough Northman!" I squealed, and quickly stood up. As he too began rising, I took advantage of his vulnerable gravitational state and pushed him into the water.

"Whaaaa?" he managed, before he was completely submerged under water. After a few seconds he popped up again, his hair plastered to his face, bellowing, "You are mine!" He hopped right back up on the dock, and I sprinted down to the farthest end of the pier, where Eric had first come from. I could hear the pounding of his footsteps, but I deftly dove into the water before he could catch up to me and throw me in.

I waited until I touched the soft bottom of the pond before surfacing. I braced myself for some splashes or a cannonball right near me, but Eric was still on the dock.

"Impressive dive. Are you on the swim team?" He asked. He wasn't smirking or trying to make a comment, he was just genuinely interested.

Climbing up the ladder onto the dock, I replied, "Nope. My brother Jason and I used to come down here with our parents when we were kids, and we wouldn't even swim; we'd just dive or jump in the whole time."

"Oh, yeah? What other diving talents do you have up your sleeve? Or bikini top, in this situation, seeing as you aren't wearing an outfit with sleeves..."

"Eric! And yeah, I'd say I'm an expert at diving. I can even do a back dive."

"I'd very much like to see that."

"Okay, but you have to back up, because I don't want to hit you," I commanded. He nodded and did just that, so now I was standing with my back to the water, and he was standing about three feet away from me with his back to the beach.

"Okay, so you put your hands like you're praying and you place them behind your head. Then you relax your body…and spread your legs...and arch your back…and just dive in!" The words sounded a little dirty, but he deserved payback for that little statement about the talent underneath my bikini. It worked; he was gazing rapturously at me.

As I began diving off of the dock I heard a loud "pop" and felt the clasp holding the bottom of my halter top bikini come undone. It lifted over my head so that it was covering my eyes instead of my boobs; the clasp around my neck was still fastened. The move essentially exposed my boobs to Eric and his rapturous gaze. Screaming, I broke my diving position mid-air to try and cover myself up, but it was useless as this point; Eric had already met the girls. Scrambling, I forgot to resume the proper back-dive pose and instead did an extremely painful back-flop into the water that burned my back. I felt like the water was slapping me for my accident.

Mortified and humiliated didn't come close enough to what I was feeling. I stayed underwater for as long as possible, cursing my lack of gills or flippers. I dreaded resurfacing to see Eric's reaction. Would he be cracking up? Would he be disgusted? Would he even be there?

When I surfaced, and was able to re-fasten my bikini top, Eric was standing bug-eyed on the dock. He looked shocked, awed, and aroused.

Everyone else must have saw or heard me, because they were all staring at me with their eyes widened in bewilderment. No one said anything for a terrifying couple of seconds, and then they all started cackling, except for Eric.

He hadn't moved, and he was still staring at me. Because his back was to the girls, they couldn't see the bulge in his bathing suit. The shorts were baggy but I could tell, even from my position in the water, that the fabric was barely containing his erection. He must have seen me staring at his crotch, because he looked down, looked back at me, looked to see if anyone else noticed, and then immediately jumped in the water.

The laughing soon died down and everyone went back to whatever they had been doing before. Everyone, that is, except Eric. He was silently treading water directly in front of me, waiting for my reaction.

"Are we going to talk about this?" I asked.

"Well, I would like to do more than just talk about it, but I think that's all we can do in this situation."

"So…"

"So…"

"I'm surprised to see you at a loss of words, Northman."

"I'm just trying to think of the right ones, Stackhouse. I don't know how to do this; I've never been in this kind of situation before."

"What, you've never had an erection before, or you've never had a girl see your erection? Either way, I'm flattered."

He splashed me before replying, "Ha, ha, ha. I meant I've never been this attracted to one of my players before. I've never had a relationship with someone I was coaching. I've never had a relationship with someone who was younger than me. I'm clueless, and don't know what to do."

"Are you saying that you want to have a relationship with me, Eric?"

"What? Um…that's ridiculous. There's too much going against it. Christ, I'm your fucking coach! I don't even know if you're eighteen, or if you have a boyfriend! What if we get caught? You could get expelled, I would be fired. But that hasn't stopped me from thinking about you ever since this morning! I'm a mess! I feel like a fucking pervert or a pedophile! And –"

"Eric. Look at me. I feel the same way. I've never had a romantic relationship with a coach or an older guy or any guy, really. But, I don't care. I know it won't look good on paper and we can't do anything at practice and I won't be able to take you to the Homecoming Dance but that doesn't matter to me. We can make it work. We'll figure something out. We can be clueless together."

He smiled a shit-eating smile that practically took up the lower portion of his face. But it was contagious, because I could feel myself grinning just as widely. He swam a little closer to me and reached for my hand underwater. Once he found it, he gave it a little squeeze. I melted at the sweet gesture. I squeezed right back.

"Hey, Sookie, Eric, we're going to play a big game of "Drip, Drip, Drop" because Amelia won't stop talking about it. Do you guys want in?" Tara hollered from the shore. We were the only ones still in the water.

Eric looked to me; my choice. "Sure thing, Tara!"

To Eric I whispered, "Later?"

He nodded and began swimming towards the dock. I followed, and he let me climb up the ladder first, gently placing a firm hand on my lower back to help me up. I waited for him to climb the ladder, and we walked side-by-side down the dock to the beach.

But before we reached the group of girls, we were intercepted by Ginger, a junior who wasn't that smart, both in school and on the field, and was as fake as her peroxide-blond hair and her French manicure.

"What were you guys doing out there?" she interrogated, massaging her rib cage in a feeble attempt to get Eric's attention.

"I was just persuading Stackhouse not to quit the soccer team after her highly embarrassing stunt back there. Luckily, she now understands that she is very valuable to the squad, and we need her," Eric responded. He glanced at me, making sure I understood the double meaning. I blushed.

"But, like, I thought you haven't seen us play yet. How do you know she's even good?" Ginger asked, stretching to "carelessly" fluff her fingers through her hair and push her nonexistent chest out of her silver bandeau bikini top.

"Sometimes you can just tell that a person's really special," Eric practically spat out. "Come on, Stackhouse, I want to see what this "Drip, Drip, Drop" thing is and why everyone's obsessed with it."

He started navigating me towards the group of girls sitting in a circle before he had even stopped talking. I practically had to run to keep up with him; he must have been a damn good soccer player.

"So who wants to explain this game to me? I am unfamiliar with it," he spoke to the team, showing none of the fire in his eyes that had been burning while talking to Ginger.

"Well, it's kind of like "Duck, Duck, Goose" if you've ever played that," explained Halleigh, a kind sophomore who was our starting goalie.

"Ah, yes, I do know that game. But why is this one named after verbs instead of birds?"

"I don't really know. But in this game, instead of saying "Duck" the standing person says "Drip" and pours a little bit of water of everyone's head, and instead of saying "Goose" the person says, "Drop" and pours all of the water on that girl's head. There's still a chase around the circle and stuff."

"Sounds like fun, count me in!" Eric smiled.

"Me too," I added.

We played until it looked like we had just come out of the lake. Eric "dropped" on Halleigh, Tara, and me; I "dropped" on Eric, Amelia, and Ginger (and felt a secret satisfaction when she bitched about her soggy hair and screwed up makeup and left the game).

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Soon it was 5:30, and I had to be at Merlotte's at 6 for my shift. I excused myself from the festivities and walked back to my car to get my uniform. I figured that since I didn't really get sweaty or dirty, I'd be fine with just changing into my outfit, so I went to the pavilion's bathroom and changed. Afterwards, I made sure I said goodbye to everyone. But I couldn't find Eric.

He wasn't in the water, he wasn't in the pavilion, and he wasn't on the beach. I didn't have time to search though, or else I'd be late.

On the trek back to my car I reasoned that I could see Eric tomorrow at practice, but that didn't make me feel any better. I wanted to see him now. Not just because of what we had said that day, but also because I wanted him to know how much I appreciated the team outing.

I spied him leaning against my car, staring off into the distance. He didn't see or hear me when I walked towards him, so I shyly said, "Hi" when I was a couple feet away.

"Hey you," he smiled back, "I was waiting for you. I wanted to say good bye in private."

I did a silent prayer of thanks that I had parked near the isolated corner of the parking lot before answering, "I was looking for you. It just so happens that I wanted to say thank you in private."

He arched his eyebrow. "For what?"

"Well, for doing all of this for us. Bill never would have done anything remotely cool like this. I mean, I'm leaving halfway through and I already know that this was one of the best soccer practices of all time, not just for me but for the rest of the team. We kind of needed this after Bill's betrayal. I know I needed this. So thank you, for everything."

He nodded, "It was my pleasure, Stackhouse. I enjoyed myself as well."

Oh, right. About that…

I mustered, "Um, Northman….about earlier today..."

His face fell and he dropped his eyes to the ground. He nodded for me to continue without looking up.

I continued, "I just wanted you to know that I didn't mean for my bathing suit to fall off, I swear! Especially after I was talking about spreading my legs and arching my back! I'm really –"

I stopped talking when I saw Eric step toward me, closing the gap between us. He cradled my face in his hands and crouched over so that our faces were on the same level and there was nowhere else to look except at the other person.

"Don't. Don't apologize. I'm not sorry it happened. I'm just sorry that you're sorry. I know it was an accident. I would have preferred that the first time I saw your beautiful breasts, it would have been on purpose and with your consent."

I whispered, "Then I'm not sorry it happened either. I'm glad it happened."

He looked surprised, saying, "Well, obviously me too, but why are you glad?"

"Because of, you know, what happened immediately afterwards. I mean, think of all of the drama and confusion we're skipping – the weeks of questioning and denying and pining. We don't have to deal with that crap, because we already know how we feel about each other. And we can freely demonstrate our feelings," I answered, leaning forward to kiss him.

He was hesitant at first, like he wanted my permission to kiss me. I ran my fingers through his hair and sucked on his upper lip, using gestures instead of words to ask him to open his mouth. His answered by nibbling on my bottom lip and opening his mouth. Our tongues met and began to dance in unison with each other. He ran his hands up and down my arms before seizing my waist and pulling me closer to him. He swiveled me around so that I was leaning against the car and he was leaning on me.

I don't know how long we kissed; time is irrelevant when you were kissing someone as talented and perfect as Eric. He broke from our kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes. I rubbed our noses together in an Eskimo-kiss and he smiled.

It was the perfect first kiss; sweet and tender, and way better than any of the ones I had experienced while standing awkwardly on my front porch with a nervous boy. It expressed everything we had said and done to each other that day.

"You're going to be late. Not that I mind…." he breathed. I was a little out of it from the kissing, so I just nodded. He hugged me and didn't let go for a long time.

"I really should be going. Tomorrow seems so far away, but I'm already looking forward to it," I mumbled into his strong chest.

He laughed into my hair. "As I said before, you have unexpected depth. And I can't wait to explore it."

He released me, and I very reluctantly got in my car. Eric kissed me on the forehead and lingered there for a couple of seconds. He softly shut the door and backed up to give me space. As I drove off, I could see him still watching me, his figure outlined against the backdrop of the setting sun.

* * *

**A/N: The part where Sookie tries to do a back dive and has her bikini top come undone is actually the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me. And yes, it happened in front of an unbelievably good looking blond soccer coach! It was two years ago at a soccer camp where all of the players were divided up into teams that were coached by a camp counselor. My camp counselor coach was this hot British coach who I'm partly basing the Eric in this story off of (along with Alexander Skarsgard/Eric Northman, of course!). So anyways, it's the first day of camp and we're all a little nervous and we go down to the lake to swim and have a little team bonding session. I was on the dock with the coach and some other girls, and we were all doing crazy flips/dives into the water when I went to do my back dive and my bikini top came undone and exposed myself to everyone! And it was the first day of camp too! Unfortunately, the undoing of the bikini clasp is the only similarity between my back dive and Sookie's back dive – none of the flirting or romantic stuff that happened between her and Eric ever happened between me and the coach.**

**Also, I've been getting a lot of requests for an EPOV. Lemme know what you think about it! I haven't decided what the POV will be in chapter 4…but I'm sure your reviews/PMs will help me make a decision!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, I'm just renting them.**

**Cyber snaps for my beta, ShutterbugMom! **

* * *

"_You're going to be late. Not that I mind…." he breathed. I was a little out of it from the kissing, so I just nodded. He hugged me and didn't let go for a long time._

"_I really should be going. Tomorrow seems so far away, but I'm already looking forward to it," I mumbled into his strong chest._

_He laughed into my hair. "As I said before, you have unexpected depth. And I can't wait to explore it."_

_He released me, and I very reluctantly got in my car. Eric kissed me on the forehead and lingered there for a couple of seconds. He softly shut the door and backed up to give me space. _

_As I drove off, I could see him still watching me, his figure outlined against the backdrop of the setting sun_

* * *

**EPOV**

After Sookie left, I walked over to my car to sit and think about what just happened. As my iPod played my favorite chill-out song, an old Swedish tune called "Sancto Erico" that always reminded me of my carefree childhood days, I replayed all of my interactions with Sookie: the first time I saw her through that tiny sliver of window in Principal de Castro's door; her unbelievably sexy comment about wanting to rub herself all over me; the feeling of her head on my shoulder; the way she handled herself after what had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life (and mine as well); our amazing, Disney-esque first kiss (hell yes, I just went there).

When I first got this job, I thought I would be babysitting a bunch of whiny teenagers who would only gossip about hot guys and makeup and booze and shit. I was wrong, and that doesn't usually happen. The girls were friendly, thoughtful, and nothing like I was expecting. They all surprised me, and that is a rare quality for teenagers.

Sookie surprised me the most, though. She didn't back off once she thought out loud all of the dirty things she wanted to do to me (of course I was pretty much thinking the same things, but I don't know what I'd do if I had actually said them out loud to a total stranger in the principal's office). She said I was gorgeous but she didn't try to seduce me, unlike some of her teammates. And I could tell, when watching her watch her friends have fun or hearing her thank me for the lake outing, that she really cared about her team, and wasn't going to shirk off her captain duties once she put that on her college applications.

But I really admired her courage and determination. I loved how she didn't shy away when she accidentally flashed me and consequently saw my fuckawful reaction – I knew we had been flirting pretty heavily, but I was terrified when I caught her looking at the boner I got just because I saw her breasts, like I was one of those stupid boys she goes to high school with. But she wasn't afraid to call me out on it. She was so open and direct – she didn't mind saying that she'd never been with a boy or that she knew our relationship wouldn't be normal but she didn't give a fuck. Okay, so she never really responded to my comment about her age, but I figured that if she was a senior in high school she would at least be 17, maybe 18, and I was okay with that if she was.

I felt like kissing her when she said we should just fast-forward through the silly soap opera antics and just be together….so I did. But I waited for her to initiate the kiss; I didn't want to go too fast, too soon with her and maybe scare her away. I knew that there would be people who would jump to conclusions about us, and about her and me, due to our ages and positions…I wanted to make sure she wouldn't be one of them.

Fuck, what about the team? What would happen when they found out Sookie was dating the coach? They'd feel hurt and betrayed, and then I'd be no better than that son of a bitch ex-coach of theirs. And while I know that I won't favor Sookie, no matter how good she is – and she must be a talented soccer player if she's the captain of the team – if we get caught, there's no way we'll come out smelling like fresh baked cookies.

Hell, just thinking that little simile made my stomach growl. A glance at my car clock showed that it was past 6 o'clock – shit! I had completely forgotten about dinner and the rest of the team while reminiscing about all things Sookie.

I sprinted back to the beach and was greeted by the sight of nineteen teenage girls having a massive dance party on the beach. Someone had plugged their iPod into my speakers, and they were dancing to some song about the paparazzi. For a couple of terrifying seconds I stopped walking and freaked out that the girls were purposely playing this song, like they had seen or heard what just happened with me and Sookie, but then I realized that would be impossible and I was just acting paranoid – something I'd have to get used to if I was dating a player.

After I calmed myself down, I resumed walking towards the girls. They were dancing, but not the slutty, desperate way that I was so used to seeing women move at bars or parties. There was no bumping or grinding of any kind; instead, they were just dancing to dance, with their hands in the air and smiles on their faces. I laughed as I watched Amelia try to moonwalk in the sand. She must have heard me, because she immediately snapped her head up and looked at me.

She grinned and yelled, "Hey Eric, come dance with us!"

The rest of the team yelled for me to join their dance party. As I said earlier, I have been described as being an excellent dancer. But I was really hungry and needed to eat.

"I was actually just coming over to ask you guys what you wanted to eat for dinner, because I didn't bring any hot dogs or hamburgers or anything," I explained.

The girls responded by groaning loudly and exclaiming, "Aaaaw!" or "Come on!" Amelia actually pouted.

_Well…_

I smiled, did a Michael Jackson-esque spin, and began doing the worm. I got some sand in my mouth, but I was doing a pretty good worm, considering it was on the beach. And anyways, the team started cheering and laughing. But then I started feeling sand-burn on my chest and arms, so I stopped and stood up to take a bow.

Once the applause died down, I said, "Okay, seriously, what do you guys want for dinner? Do you want me to grab some hot dogs and hamburgers? Are there enough drinks and snacks left? Do you guys like s'mores?"

The girls actually huddled up to talk about possible dinner choices. They cracked me up. After some deliberation, Tara stuck her head out and said, "Yes, to all of the above. Just get hot dogs, hamburgers, the appropriate buns, and s'mores stuff. We'll stay here and brainstorm other ways to get you to dance."

"Alright, sounds like a plan. I should be back in about forty-five minutes or so. My cell-phone number is on my iPod speakers, in case you need to reach me."

Someone squealed after I said that – thankfully, I wasn't able to tell who it was. Walking back to my car, I had the most brilliant idea: I could stop by Merlotte's and see Sookie. Maybe she'd have a break or something and we could talk and I could buy her dinner. Or maybe she'd be really busy, and I could just bring her something that would be easy to eat on the fly. Either way, I'd be able to be with her for a bit.

That thought made me walk considerably faster, and I sped to the local grocery store to pick up provisions. The whole way there I was thinking of what I should bring Sookie – sandwich? Slice of pizza? Maybe just a bag of chips? I had no idea, and I really wanted to bring Sookie the right thing.

Then, I thought about what I would want if I were in her position, with a long waitress shift that required a lot of walking back and forth to tables and refilling drinks and making small talk. Hands down, that'd be a vanilla milkshake. There was an ice cream parlor in the center of town, too. But what if Sookie liked chocolate milkshakes? Or strawberry milkshakes? What if I brought her the wrong kind?

As I parked my car in the grocery store parking lot, I had my second most brilliant idea: I could order Sookie a vanilla milkshake, and pick up a bottle of chocolate syrup and a bottle of strawberry syrup at the store, just in case. _Hells yeah!_

Mentally patting myself on the back, I bought all of the food items that the girls asked me to, plus Sookie's two syrups. Then, I ordered Sookie a large vanilla milkshake at the ice cream store – and okay, I got one for me as well. It wasn't until I started driving over to Merlotte's that I realized that the girl at the window didn't put any whipped cream on the shakes. Shit, what if Sookie really liked whipped cream on her milkshake? I stopped at the gas station, and thankfully they sold whipped cream. I bought a can, and then continued driving over to the restaurant. I sadly noticed that there were more cars in the parking lot than earlier today, so I probably wouldn't be able to sit and talk with Sookie.

Deftly balancing our two milkshakes and the bag of syrups and whipped cream, I walked into Merlotte's and instantly spotted Sookie's blond ponytail near the bar. She was talking to that Sam guy from before, with her back to me. I crept up behind her, managing to put a finger to my lips to "sssh" Sam, and touched the back of her neck with her milkshake.

She jumped about three feet in the air and whipped her head around, her eyebrows drawn in confusion. Once she saw it was me, she grinned and made to hug me, but stopped when she saw that with all of the stuff in my hands it'd kind of be a one-sided hug. Giggling, she took the milkshakes out of my hands and set them on the bar; she didn't even get distracted and try to find out what was in there, she was looking at me the whole time. I grinned and threw my arms around her, trying not to hit her with the grocery bag. She smelled like lemons and rain; she must have put some perfume or lotion on after she left. I inhaled deeply, and laughed when I heard her do the same – she smelled me too! I loved it.

Sam politely coughed, and we let go of each other. She was blushing, and it looked even prettier under the dim lights of the bar. She asked Sam if she could take a ten-minute break, and he agreed. Grabbing my hand, Sookie dragged me past the bar and into the employee's break room. There was a picnic table in the corner.

"Hey, you," she said, sitting down on the bench. "Shouldn't you be at the pond?"

I sat across from her and said, "I needed to get grilling stuff at the grocery store….and I wanted to visit you."

"I was just thinking of you, too, actually," she smiled.

"Listen Sookie…there's something I need to say, but I don't know how to say it. Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but, um, how old are you?"

Her smile dimmed a little, and she answered, "I turned eighteen in August. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four."

She unconsciously let out her breath, and her smile brightened again. As much as it pained me to realize that she was worried about how old I was, I was glad that she was seriously thinking about our relationship. And, of course, I liked that she was legal – it made me feel a tiny bit less icky.

"Here, I brought you a milkshake. It's vanilla. There's syrup, chocolate and strawberry, in case you like another flavor. I brought whipped cream too, if you so desire it. I didn't know how you liked your frozen treats," I rambled. I mentally cursed myself – _since when did I fucking ramble?_ Since I met Sookie Stackhouse, I guess.

"That's so thoughtful of you, Eric! A vanilla milkshake sounds so yummy right now!"

I handed her the milkshake, and she held it up to do a mock "cheers" with our cups. She greedily started sucking on the straw. Her cheekbones stood out even more, and I could see her gulping down the milkshake. I could only stare in amazement.

She looked up and innocently asked, "You said something about whipped cream?"

Temporarily incapable of speech, I wordlessly nodded and handed her the whipped cream. She uncapped it, threw her head back, and squirted some whipped cream into her mouth. It was an incredibly sexy gesture, made even better by the fact that it was done by an incredibly sexy Sookie, and I felt my pants get a little tighter in the crotch area.

"Do you want some?" she asked.

"I would love some."

"Tilt your head back, and open wide," she commanded.

I obeyed, and she squirted a small amount of whipped cream into my mouth.

"Oops, I got some on the side of your mouth!"

I reached for a napkin from the dispenser, but Sookie surprised me by leaning towards me and grabbing the collar of my shirt to pull me closer. She licked off – _fucking licked off!_ – whatever whipped cream had manifested itself on my face before kissing me on the lips. As the kiss deepened, I could taste and feel the whipped cream on her tongue – the whipped cream that she licked off of me! I reached across the table to run my hands on her arms. I wanted to touch more of her, but was blocked by the table; improvising, I felt around for her legs under the table and, once I made contact, started rubbing her calves with my feet. I felt her shiver with excitement. Her fingers moved from my neck into my hair, and now it was my turn to shiver.

Sookie pulled back a little and whispered into my mouth, "Eric…we're at my work…someone could walk in…"

Damnit, she was right. I ran my finger down her cheekbone before taking her hand into mine – a romantic gesture I had never enacted with any woman.

She squeezed my hand and sighed, "I'd like to thank you for coming to visit me tonight, and for bringing me a milkshake. I really appreciate it."

I could tell she really did. "Anytime, Sookie. Seriously. Especially if this is how you thank me…"

She blushed again and leaned over to give me a small kiss on the lips.

"I'm sorry, but I really should be getting back to my tables. But, I think I'll be able to work faster knowing that there's a delicious milkshake with my name on it!"

I laughed, enjoying how she was able to see the positive in this particular situation.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

"Yep, at our first official practice! Northman, try not to stay up all night worrying about it!" she teased.

_Well…_

"I'm sure I'll be too busy thinking of more pleasurable things."

_Right back at ya, Stackhouse_.

With that perfect exit line, I strolled out of the booth and made my way out of the restaurant.

As I passed by the bar, Sam called out, "Have a nice night now, Eric. Let me tell ya, Sookie looked so excited when she was telling me how you decorated the beach! Thanks for doing all that for her and the girls. " I smiled in return, hoping that there was another reason why Sookie looked so excited.

I was so energized from my visit with Sookie that I practically twirled over to my car…thankfully, no one was in the parking lot. I grinned the whole way back to the pond, especially when iPod played my two favorite songs, Iggy Pop's "The Passenger" and The Buzzcock's "Ever Fallen in Love."

_Yep, I play punk rock when I'm happy_.

The girls were standing around the picnic tables when I got back, and they cheered when I hobbled over with my portable grill and bag of groceries. The conversation and food flowed, and there was never a quiet moment. Man, could these girls _talk_! My neck cramped from always looking back and forth at whoever was speaking.

But after a while, it became too dark and too late, and the team very nicely helped me clean up. One by one the girls lined up to hug me goodbye and personally thank me for the great first practice. Some of them even tried to give me money for the food, but I insisted that this was my treat. Once again, I was blown away by how polite and kind they all were.

I felt proud to call them my team. And I knew I'd feel even prouder once I saw how they played.

* * *

**A/N: So…first EPOV! What'd you think? And I'm not just begging for reviews (not that I'd reject them ****) but I was a little worried about how Eric came off – that ****I made Eric a little soft and out of character because he was so worried about Sookie's milkshake. Then I realized that in SVM, Charlaine Harris never really explains his thought process behind choosing Sookie's gifts (i.e. driveway, cranberry coat) – they just kind of magically show up on (or in the driveway's case, near!) Sookie's porch and he never explains anything. I thought it'd be fun to explore what Eric was thinking when buying Sookie something. But Eric's not a wittle teddy bear, as you'll see in later chapters… oh snap!**

**I don't know how many Alexander Skarsgard fans are out there (although I do know that there are **_**a lot**_**!) but all music references were deliberate in this chapter:**

**1. "Sancto Erico," for any **_**True Blood**_** fangbangers, is the song that Eric plays while bathing in Bill's tub – as he says, "It's from my younger days. It's really quite beautiful if you know Old Swedish." It's available on the True Blood soundtrack on iTunes if anyone's interested. T****he lyrics are translated from an Old Swedish epic poem about a king named Eric**** – one of the writers contacted a university professor who specializes in Old Swedish, and he recommended the text. **

**2. "Paparazzi" – that's the easiest one! AS stars in Lady Gaga's video for it.**

**3. "The Passenger" and "Ever Fallen in Love" were two songs that AS played during a guest DJ stint on KCRW. He dedicates "The Passenger" to Los Angeles and "Ever Fallen in Love" to an ex-girlfriend. He also played "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison (dedicated to his mother), "Mother's Little Helper" by the Rolling Stones (dedicated to his father), and "****800 °C" by a Swedish punk band called Ebba Grön (dedicated to a friend who is sick).**

**Is it a sign that I already had all of the songs on my iPod except the Swedish one? *cough cough* pay attention, Alexander Skarsgard *cough cough* ;) **

**The website for the whole transcript of his interview is: ****http://www (DOT) kcrw (DOT) com/music/programs/gd/gd090909alex_skarsgard**** … check it out!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**SPOV:**

I was leaving Merlotte's when I spotted Eric's Corvette still in the parking lot. Glad that I had refused Sam's offer to walk me to my car, I switched directions and meandered over to the vehicle, my heart pumping a little faster at the thought of seeing him again … alone … in the dark … where no one could see us.

But he wasn't in his car. Tucked underneath his windshield wipers was a scrap of paper that read, "Come find me, lover." His handwriting looked like him – bold, all-caps, every letter freakishly of the same height. I peered around, waiting for him to pop out from behind a tree, but saw nothing.

Frustrated, I dropped my bags and threw my head back to give out an exasperated sigh, but I stopped once I saw a pair of black Puma indoor soccer shoes tied around a tree branch. He had very thoughtfully tucked his socks into his sneakers.

The thought of Eric traipsing around the woods that surrounded Merlotte's shoeless made me feel more excited than it should.

Deciding that there was a reason why Eric tied his shoes around the tree branch that hung over the small path into the thicket of trees, I hesitantly walked underneath it, my eyes still scanning for a sight of something big, blond, and beautiful.

"Eric?" I whispered. No response. I trekked on in baby footsteps. I stumbled once or twice – I was looking so hard for Eric that I kept forgetting to keep an eye out for tree roots or fallen branches.

I stopped once I spotted a grey tee-shirt lying across a tree stump. I picked it up and brought it to my face – it smelled like Eric had earlier and, more importantly, it was still warm. Eric was nearby, shirtless and shoeless. Maybe even pant-less.

Unlike the shoes, I brought his shirt with me while I continued walking through the forest. Though it was about 11 at night, the shining stars and full moon provided a little bit of light that filtered down through the branches and leaves. With the exception of the occasional cricket chirp, it was silent – not scary movie silent, but surprisingly more like comforting silent.

I tiptoed down the path, distantly recognizing the trail as the one leading to the pond in the woods, where I sometimes found Sam if he wasn't in his restaurant or his trailer.

As I got closer to the pond, and could faintly hear the sound of waves, I began to pick up speed. Somehow I just _knew_ that Eric was in the water, and he was waiting for me. I didn't want to wait any longer. I felt my ankle brush up against something, and looked to see Eric's navy swimming trunks from before sprawled across the trail. But this time I didn't stop and pick them up – instead, I dropped Eric's shirt and began running even faster in the direction of the water.

Finally all the brush disappeared and I could clearly see the pond, and a figure bobbing in the water._ Eric_.

I sprinted down to the bank and was stopped by the sight of Eric's broad chest. Sure, I had seen it earlier, but it was even more stunning in the moonlight. Eric was even more stunning in the moonlight. The slight curves of his muscles and the faint trace of a 5 o'clock – well, technically 11 o'clock – shadow was even more prominent now, as though the harsh sunlight had temporarily erased them during the day. His eyes seemed whiter and more vibrant, and his cheekbones were more defined. He was smiling at me, his teeth twinkling like he had diamonds on his teeth.

He didn't break the silence, simply reaching an arm out to me. It was clear that he wanted me to join him, but he didn't even need to ask – that was my intention ever since I spied him in the water. Looking directly at Eric, I crossed my arms to take off my Merlotte's white tee, making an "x" sign with my arms as I pulled my shirt over my head. I unbuttoned my black shorts and slid them down my legs, stepping out of them. I was undressing myself in front of Eric, but I didn't feel embarrassed or corny – I liked it.

I kicked off my shoes and socks, using my feet rather than bending down to clumsily pull them off. I reached behind my back to unclasp my bra; it was an old nude tee-shirt bra, but somehow that didn't matter to me – especially when it was just in the way. I slid my fingers down to my hips, using my two index fingers to slide off my plain black cotton underwear. As I walked closer to the water I reached up and freed my hair from the high pony running my fingers through my hair to make sure there wasn't an awkward elastic indent in my hair.

During this time Eric had gravitated towards the bank, and he reached his arms up to help me in, caressing my hips as he lifted me into the water. Once my feet hit the soft sand, I moved my hands up into Eric's hair and started kissing him passionately. The search to find him was a hell of a foreplay tactic, and I was fully aroused.

So was he. He responded just as hungrily, pulling me closer to him so I could feel just how aroused he was. I didn't even bother looking down. I closed my eyes and focused on the kiss, whimpering when Eric's lips left mine and began introducing themselves to my neck and collarbone. When he gently nibbled on the patch of skin between my shoulder and my neck, I uncontrollably let out a low moan that was followed by a similar sounding moan from Eric.

"Sookie, is everything all right in there? I heard some noises. Can I come in?"

The sound of Gran's voice jolted me awake. So it was all a dream…

"Everything's fine, Gran. I was just, uh, doing some particularly hard crunches."

"Just checking up on you, honey. There's some eggs and toast on the table downstairs if you're hungry."

"Great, thanks!"

After I heard her shuffle to the other end of the hallway, I groaned and clenched my pillow to my face. The dream had seemed so real, so clear – _so_ _hot_. It would just make the wait to soccer practice feel even longer.

* * *

**A/N: I know – Tuesday night and an alert for Score!?? Say WHAT? The internet server in my school was down today for the second day in a row, so during my online class and independent study periods I hammered out this little chapter (I don't know how many of you read or write fanfiction while in a public place, but I felt kinda awkward writing this while sitting near the other students!). So, this is a thank-you to all of the people who took the time to not only read this but to alert/review/PM it … and an example of what might happen if I don't get some feedback!!**

**** I just wanted to post this ASAP, so it's beta-less. All mistakes are mine. The characters, however, are not.**


	6. Chapter 6

_The dream had seemed so real, so clear –__so hot__. It would just make the wait to soccer practice feel even longer._

* * *

**SPOV:**

My fourth period independent study with Amelia had morphed into a fourth period Eric gabfest, as she would not stop jabbering about how sweet and funny he was. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and say, "Yeah, I know! Better than you ever will!" or something to that effect. Instead I mumbled something lame about how much I was looking forward for our season. Of course, that started a whole other ramble session about how there was a dwindling amount of warm days left for us to start wearing sexy sports bras to practice in à la her favorite team sleepover movie, _Bend It Like Beckham_.

Normally I could listen to Amelia's connect-the-dots way of having a conversation with herself, but I was just not in the mood this morning. Thankfully, I was able to tune her out and logged onto my email account. I lazily skimmed through the college admissions letters and stupid Youtube videos that Jason somehow always managed to find and send me whenever he wasn't working, drinking beer, or picking up chicks.

Today's top choices included a mock music video of Air Force cadets lip-syncing to Vanessa Carlton's "A Thousand Miles" and an audio clip of a 9-1-1 call made by a woman who locked herself in her car and didn't think to manually unlock it. Solid.

More importantly, I had an email from an unknown address, EAsports(at)northman(dot)net. I absently moved to delete it when I realized that it was probably from NORTHMAN. Hunching closer to the computer to obstruct Amelia's view, I opened the email up with vampire-like speed. Once I saw it was also addressed to Amelia and Tara, however, I flopped back into my seat.

It read,

_To: SunnySookie(at)bontempshigh(dot)net, off-Broadway(at)bontempshigh(dot)net, thornytara(at)bontempshigh(dot)net_

_From: EAsports(at)northman(dot)net at 6:02 am_

_Subject: This Week_

"_Good morning, captains._

_You might not read this before practice – after all, you all are in school, right? ;) – but I thought it would be fair for me to give you a head's up that I intend for today's soccer practice, and indeed the rest of this week's practices, to be very tough in preparation for Friday's game against Shreveport. I know that they are your rivals, but I was researching that team this morning and discovered that the coach of the team is an old enemy, __Russell Edgington__, from my time as a soccer player. So I have a score I would like to settle with him, and I would like nothing more than to embarrass him on Friday. Badly._

_See you at the fields,_

_Eric."_

I elbowed Amelia and told her to check her email. Once she finished reading Eric's message, she said, "Oh my gawd, and I thought it wasn't possible to like Eric even more!"

"What do you mean?" I questioned, suspicious of how much she liked Eric and whether or not he had given her any cause for her infatuation.

"He seems to hate Russell Edgington as much as I do! Ever since the playoffs last year, when that fuckfaced bastard told his players to "mark the flashy ginger," I have wanted to choke him with all of my "flashy" necklaces and bracelets and slip a knife in his back just for good measure," she huffed.

"Ouch, I remember that. But Eric wasn't here for that, remember? What does he have against Edgington?" I tried, hoping to direct the conversation back to the coach she "liked."

"I know! And I'm surprised that Eric didn't include why he loathes Russell Edgington. I mean, if that dick did to me what he did to Eric, then I would want to destroy his team, videotape the game, and then post it on everyone's Facebook page!"

"WHAT?!?! Spill!!!"

"Oh come on, like you didn't go home and Google Eric immediately after lunch yesterday," she snapped. Well, at least one of the captains thought to do a background check on their new coach, although I suspected she did so for more personal reasons.

"No, Amelia, I didn't go home and Google Eric immediately after lunch yesterday. Now, seriously, what did Russell Edgington do to Eric?" I hissed, almost wearing down my teeth from grinding them in frustration.

"Really? You're weird. Anyhooooo, Russell Edgington was the guy that illegally slide tackled Eric, causing him to tear his ACL. He's the reason why Eric had to quit playing. Apparently it was this big controversy because they had always been rivals for the title of the NCAA division's top scorer. I think Eric won the award his sophomore and junior years and Russell Edgington won during Eric's freshman year, but Eric totally would have been awarded the honor during his senior year if he didn't get injured. And Russell Edgington was always a striker, but for that game he specifically requested to play defense to guard Eric. And then twenty minutes into the match Eric is being carried off in a stretcher. There's even a whole Wikipedia article dedicated to it."

"Wow," I said, struggling to make sense of all of the information. Russell Edgington, the feared enemy of all referees and soccer players in the county, was the reason why Eric was forced to abandon his lifelong passion for playing soccer? Eric evidently didn't feel comfortable sharing that tidbit of information with his captains? Or me? Eric was the NCAA Division 1 top scorer two, almost three, years in a row? Eric had his own Wikipedia page?

I quickly opened up my Internet Explorer and pounded "Eric Northman" into my Google search engine. Sure enough, I got 768,900 hits in 0.26 seconds. Double Wow.

The Wikipedia page that Amelia mentioned was the first website listed, so I clicked on that. I was greeted with a picture of Eric lying in agony on a turf field, his face scrunched up like the "Scream" mask and his hands clutching his right knee like they were the only things keeping it attached to his leg. He was wearing the light blue Tar Heels soccer uniform, and his hair was in a faux-hawk like David Beckham. Sheesh, even in pain he looked like the god of all things sexy.

Kneeling on the ground next to Eric's feet, in the process of getting up but looking like he was getting ready to pounce on an extremely vulnerable Eric, was Russell Edgington; he looked exactly as he had last year during that playoff game. He was staring directly at Eric, but I could still see the evilest smirk plastered on his face.

After staring at the picture in shock for a couple of seconds, I tore my eyes away to read Eric's bio. It said he was a Swedish (_Swedish???_) soccer player best known for the "Soccergate scandal" and the resulting "Soccergate" picture that I had just looked at, which was said to be one of the most famous sports photos in recent years. I clicked on the "Soccergate scandal" link to find out more. The website featured the same awful picture from before, only this time it was on the cover of _Sports Illustrated_. Huh. Why didn't I know about this big soccer controversy?

The website stated that Edgington illegally tackled Eric with malicious and harmful intent, as proved by the testimony of his coach, teammates, and several journal entries and homemade videos describing his hatred of Eric because he had been the NCAA Scorer of the Year for two years in a row and was in the midst of having a contract drawn up with the best MLS professional soccer team, the Los Angeles Galaxy (_Los Angeles Galaxy??? That's David Beckham's team!! Holy smokes!_). Edgington also attempted to blackmail his teammates and coach into not testifying before the NCAA sports committee, and tried to hide his journals and videos in another teammate's locker. The committee banned him from participating in NCAA sports matches and almost expelled him from his school, the University of Virginia, but his dad intervened and bought the school a new gymnasium, which gathered even more national criticism. The whole story was featured on _60 Minutes_ and was the most watched episode of that program in three years.

Horrified, I hit the "back" button to read more on Eric's page. It said that he was the first Swedish soccer player to be recruited to play for a NCAA Division One men's soccer team; he had grown up in Stockholm and was also the youngest professional soccer player to play for the Swedish Hammarby football club, starting at age fifteen. He had been negotiating a six-figure salary with the Los Angeles Galaxy at the time of his injury. Under the "personal life" subcategory, it said that Eric had famously refused to pose for _Playgirl_ magazine and had worked as a sports correspondent for the university's paper as well as the local newspaper.

Suffering from information overload, I sat in shocked silence staring at the computer screen until I was jolted awake by the feeling of Amelia's lotion-scented hand on my shoulder. I always thought that Edgington was kind of a jerk because of his notorious behavior, but now calling him all sorts of four letter words wasn't enough to show how much I truly loathed him at that moment – for screwing up Eric's knee, for crushing his dreams, for not even being the least bit apologetic.

I didn't care if Northman made us run three-minute miles for the rest of the week – I wanted to slaughter Russell Edgington on Friday … metaphorically, of course.

"Sookie, are you okay? You broke your pencil in half, and you've been making weird growling noises," Amelia asked, a worrying look in my eyes.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. Well, pissed actually. We totally need to destroy Shreveport on Friday." She nodded and went back to reading Perez Hilton.

With ninja speed and precision I typed out a response to Eric's email:

_To: EAsports(at)northman(dot)net_

_From: SunnySookie(at)bontempshigh(dot)net at 10:33 am._

_RE: This Week_

_Northman – _

_I understand. Thanks for the warning. Although if you're going to make me work hard, you should have brought me some protein last night ;) _

_-Stackhouse_

Before I could finish sending out a little prayer hoping that Eric wouldn't find my attempt at cyber-flirting to be painfully awkward, I heard a faint "ping" and saw that I had one new message. From EAsports. Oh Lordy.

_To: SunnySookie(at)bontempshigh(dot)net _

_From: EAsports(at)northman(dot)net at 10:34 am_

_RE: This Week_

_Stackhouse-_

_Something tells me you'll be okay, but perhaps I should have brought you a hotdog? From the cookout, of course ;) hahaha. But if you have any questions or concerns, I'm going to be at the soccer field right after school ends to set up for practice … all alone…by myself. Did I mention that I would be all alone?_

_-Northman_

\m/_ (rock and roll)_

I did a little happy dance (i.e. shrugging my shoulders while simultaneously pumping my fists in the air in different directions) without looking around to see if anyone was watching me … or the reason why a happy dance was necessary. But then the bell rang, and I had to shut my computer off. I felt sorry that I would leave Eric just kind of hanging wherever he was (somewhere near his computer or laptop, that's for sure) but I mostly felt like Mysterious Sookie, queen of flirty smiley faced emoticons and excellent researching skills. And awesome happy dances.

* * *

I tried to pay attention in all of my classes after that – I really did! – but I just couldn't. Every actor in the _Beowulf_ movie reminded me of my very own Viking. Math equations and French conjugations morphed into the words of Eric's steamy email. The forest ecosystem in my biology class reminded me of my dream. Even my pizza bagel tasted like vanilla milkshakes and whipped cream! I'm just glad that I didn't accidentally sign all of my papers with "Sookie Northman," or even worse, "Eric Northman," during my three-hour daydream. At least, I don't think I did…

Once school was over I speed-walked to my car and raced back home to grab my soccer bag; luckily, I had remembered to lay out my clothes this morning despite still being dazed by my sexy sex dream. Gran had left a note on the table saying she was at the library, and Tara was still at school (she needed to stay after to take a test she missed yesterday and she had driven herself this morning) so I literally just ran into my room, changed my clothes, picked up my slightly smelly bag, and ran back to my car.

I sped over to the soccer fields, smiling when I saw that Eric's Corvette was the only car in the makeshift parking lot. That smile got even bigger once I spotted Eric's frame, and it practically slid off my face when, as I was about five feet away walking towards him, he bent over to place some cones on the field. I had to bite my lip just so I wouldn't moan or embarrass myself. _Just take deep breaths and keep walking, S__2__, _I thought by way of internal pep talk.

He was wearing black soccer shorts that were a little tight, but not so tight that he could be mistaken as a Jolly Rancher, and a light blue "UNC TAR HEELS" tee-shirt. His legs were tanned and toned and muscular, and his calf muscles unintentionally flexed every time he moved. He was wearing regular socks and beat-up silver Puma soccer cleats (seriously, did he have a contract with that company or something? Actually, considering his would-be deal with the Galaxy, he might – I should really look into that) and looked three-thousand times hotter than the heart-attack-inducing combination of Jonathan Rhys Meyers in _Bend It Like Beckham_, Channing Tatum in _She's The Man_, and the guy who played the hot blonde soccer coach in _The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_…who was coincidentally named "Eric."

When he heard me approach, he lazily looked over his shoulders and gifted me with a lopsided grin. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea – he was wearing the sexiest pair of Ray Ban aviators I had ever seen. What was this man doing in little old Bon Temps when he could have the world in his lap as really, really, ridiculously good looking male model? He straightened up, took off his sunglasses and hung them on the collar of his shirt before turning around to hug me, eyes crinkling and cheeks dimpling because of his smile. He was very big on hugging, but hey, that was a-okay with me – it's not like I was going to run away from him or deflect his advances by putting my hand out for him to shake!

After a few seconds he drew back a little and placed his hands on my shoulders. I could feel him delicately kiss the top of my head…then underneath my ear…then my jaw line…then my cheekbone…then my other cheekbone…then my forehead…and _finally_ my trembling lips. As he was covering me with his soft kisses, I was reminded of my dream from last night – of the anticipation and how much it had paid off – and I practically melted into a gooey Sookie in his very capable arms. The kiss was tender and expressive yet it still made me see clichéd fireworks in the sunlight.

After a while I was feeling seriously weak in the knees, so I ended the kiss and leaned into Eric's broad chest. Then I felt him do the cutest thing – he rested his chin on the top of my head and turned his head like he was sleeping on my hair. _This is the stuff movies are made of_, I idly reflected.

Eric made a little strangled noise, which I took to mean he was getting some serious neck cramps, and I ended our ten-minute hug.

"Hey, Northman."'

"Hey, Stackhouse. Nice shirt."

I looked down and let out an exasperated groan – "Ugggh!" In my haste to get to the soccer fields I had thrown on an old shirt of Jason's from his senior year road trip to Cozumel. It was the color of a yellow highlighter and it had the face of a leering pirate over my left breast, like where the alligator logo was placed on Amelia's many polo shirts. The front of the shirt read, "It's All About The Booty!" in all-caps letters, and the back of the shirt read, "Property of Captain Morgan. Cozumel, Mexico." Ha. Ha. Ha. _Nice job, S__2__._

"Thanks, but I wish I could say the same about yours. I mean, if you wanted a Bon Temps Soccer shirt, you should have asked, you know. You didn't need to strut around in your fancy-smanchy UNC shirt," I joked.

"Stackhouse, I really want a Bon Temps Soccer shirt," he replied without a trace of a smile or silliness.

"Uh…okay, there's been some discussion on our "Bon Temps Soccer 09" Facebook group page about buying some tee-shirts or sweatshirts, so I will definitely get the girls moving on that," I replied, caught off guard by his earnestness. In his mind, I guess, he wore the shirt of the team he belonged to – and he wanted to belong to Bon Temps High.

"Thank you. Also, thank you for providing the perfect segue into what I wanted to talk about…I want to get the girls moving today and for the rest of the week in preparation for our game on Friday. I'm worried that the activity I planned yesterday will give the girls the impression that I'm a fun, easygoing coach…I'm not."

I didn't say anything but slightly tilted my head. What was Eric trying to tell me? This guy was harder to read than _Beowulf_ on a Monday morning.

He looked at my reaction and hastily retracted, "Yes, I'm a fun, easygoing _guy_, but when I'm on the soccer field, I change. I am aggressive and bloodthirsty and barbaric. And I'm not asking you to defend me when the team complains about me, because frankly I'd be worried if they don't complain. I'm asking you to reason with them, make sure they understand why I'm doing this. They, and especially you given the nature of our relationship, need to learn how to separate Eric the coach from Eric the person."

"So you're asking us to treat you like you have split personality disorder?" I asked, trying to make sense of his words.

Epic fail – Eric bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair before conceding, "In a way, I guess. I'm just saying that the team has to realize that I have to be serious sometimes. You have to realize that I have to be serious sometimes. If I yell at you or don't start you, then you can't take it personally. You're my player whenever we're in workout clothes and drenched in sweat, and I' m your boyfriend when we're not. Can you handle that?"

"I think I can. I respect it, Eric. It makes sense. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but I'll try. On the other hand, you're going to have to be my coach too. You're going to have to listen to me talk about parties and boys and work and the weekly gossip and not overreact to the information. You're going to have to see me take some hits and not be able to rush over to me like Tarzan and beat your chest before taking revenge. Can you handle that?"

"I'll try my best," he smoothly answered. "Sookie, I want you to know that I didn't ask you to come here early just so I could patronize you. I just wanted to get that out of the way before practice."

"I understand. Also, thank you for providing the perfect segue into what I wanted to talk about," I started. He raised his eyebrows and nodded for me to continue.

"Eric, why didn't you tell me about Russell Edgington and what he did to you? Why didn't you tell me it became such a huge controversy? Why didn't you tell me you were like the best soccer player in Sweden? Why didn't you tell me you were almost signed to the _fucking _Los Angeles Galaxy! That's kinda important, don't you think? _Hell_, why didn't you tell me you were Swedish? I had to learn about your life from a _goddamn_ Wikipedia page! I didn't even know you are such a _bitchin'_ _bad ass _that you would even have your own Wikipedia page!"

He had been taken back by my questioning, but he looked even more stunned when he heard my cursing. And although he hadn't known me for all of my life like Gran and Jason did, I was sure that he too could see that I only swore when I was really pissed off. Like right now.

"I deserved that," he sighed.

"Damn straight you did. But admitting that doesn't mean you don't have to answer my questions."

"You're right. And I would understand if you don't believe me, Sookie, but I was actually going to tell you about me before the rest of the team showed up. I mean, I was going to tell the team about Russell Edgington at practice today, but I was going to tell you all of it, plus the Galaxy and Swedish stuff, beforehand. But be fair, Sookie. When would I have had the time to tell you? In between kissing you at Merlotte's? Immediately after your back dive into the pond when you saw me sporting some serious driftwood? We haven't spent that much time together all alone, and whenever we have we were talking about…or doing…more pressing things. And besides, you didn't tell me that you're an All-American soccer player or that you live with your Gran."

Huh – he did have a point. Many points, actually. But how did he know about me? I certainly didn't have my very own Wikipedia page.

"You're right. I apologize for my yelling…and my unladylike cursing."

"I accept your apology, although, like I said, I deserved it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner or maybe send you a private e-mail or something. And as for your 'unladylike cursing'…it was kind of hot."

I blushed and looked away from Eric, glad that Gran wasn't here to hear me swear. Although deep down, I figured that my swearing might not be the only thing in this situation that Gran wouldn't like.

"So when did you get rid of the faux hawk?" I asked, reaching up to tuck a wisp of his hair behind his ear. "I thought it was sexy."

"Oh, you saw the picture didn't you? I shaved it off once I stopped playing soccer, had a buzz cut for a while, and then I just grew my hair out long."

"Wow, I can't imagine you with a buzz cut!"

"I feel the same way. I can't imagine you with a buzz cut either!" he grinned, basking in his own wit.

"Ha ha ha. You know, this is the kind of background stuff we would have gone over if we had a first date."

"What, you ask all of the boys how they styled their hair in the past four years? Or do you ask all of the boys if they ever imagined you with a buzz cut? Either way, it's no surprise that you haven't had a lot of dates."

"Once again, ha ha ha," I replied sarcastically, "I meant, talking about our past, sharing personal information and stories. So even though we've already had lunch and enjoyed a late-night snack together, would you like to go out to eat and talk with me sometime soon?"

"Stackhouse, I would love that. But I think you will be too sore to be pleasant and cordial and an all-around Southern belle tonight. Maybe even for the rest of the week, depending on your level of fitness. And I know there's a big shindig at Merlotte's after every game – which we will definitely have on Friday because we are going to _crush_ Shreveport – but could I take you out Saturday night? Are you free then?"

"I think I can pencil you in," I teased, reaching up to hug him and kiss him on the cheek.

Stepping back, I asked, "So now that we've gotten all of that out of the way, do you need any help setting up? I mean, you seem to be fine with the cones, but is there anything else I can do?"

He grinned and took my hand in his, guiding me over to his Santa Claus-esque coaching duffel bag. With the hand that wasn't holding mine, he groped around for something for a couple of seconds and then pulled out a stack of agility ladders. His eyes gleamed when he saw my "oh, gawd no" reaction – although I was one of the fastest players on the team, I hated agility ladders more than I hated unimaginative local newspaper headlines or people who walked really really slowly.

"Come on now, Stackhouse, these agility ladders aren't going to set themselves up! Plus, if you unroll them, then you can secretly berate or swear at them, and I promise I won't tell anyone."

I rolled my eyes and unfolded the agility ladders as Eric resumed scattering cones across the field. Once I finished, I spotted a couple of girls walking over to where we were standing. They were all wearing sports bras – what the heck? I knew Amelia had joked about wearing sports bras to practice in school today, but I didn't know that others would actually do it. After all, no one had ever worn just a sports bra and shorts to practice when Bill was coach – not even during soccer tryouts under the hot August sun; everyone had always practiced in tee-shirts, like how I was currently dressed. And it was only like 65 degrees today, and I felt fine in my getup.

Then it hit me like I was the goalie and the girls were all shooting soccer balls at me simultaneously: they were wearing sports bras for Eric. They were scantily clad for Eric. They wanted to look like hot jailbait for Eric. They were showing off their boobs and flat stomachs (thanks to the 100-a-day crunches Bill had insisted on) for Eric. Ginger even had a makeshift garter, a slightly stained white sweatband, squeezing her thigh.

I whipped my head around to see Eric's reaction; he was still setting up cones, but it looked like he was muttering something under his breath. He looked _pissed_. He stomped over to the other side of the field and started setting up cones as far away from the group as possible, leaving me to deal with the army of skanks…I mean, soccer players…

They all greeted me like they weren't randomly half-naked, so I asked, "Uh, what's with the sports bras? Don't you think it's kinda inappropriate?"

"I guess that's for Eric to decide, don't you think?" Ginger cattily responded.

The rest of the girls nodded their heads and started putting their socks and shin guards on. Defeated, I plopped on the ground, not even caring about my black shorts getting wet, and dug around in my bag for my Nike shin guards and white soccer socks. After I finished lacing my pink Hummel cleats (yeah, I had pink cleats – it was kind of like my "thing") I looked up and saw that Eric had disappeared. Great.

By now the rest of the team showed up, thankfully sans sports bras (or, I guess, with sports bras but also with shirts on top of them). I was glad to see that Amelia and Tara were all covered up.

Eric was still nowhere to be seen. Once Amelia and Tara had seen the attire of some of the girls, they grabbed my arm and rushed me over to the goal to have an emergency captain's conference.

"Sookie, what's going on here? Why are these bitches dressed up like ho's?" Tara asked using dramatic hand gestures to make her point.

I replied, "I don't know, I was going to ask you guys about it. Amelia, did you make your little comment about sports bras to anyone else?" I knew she sometimes had a habit of recycling jokes that she thought were particularly funny.

Lowering her eyes to the grass, she mumbled, "Um, I might have said something to Ginger…." Tara and I looked at each other and groaned.

"Girl, why would you do that? It's not like she needs help acting and looking like a skank, she's been doing pretty good without your help," Tara said.

Amelia shrugged her shoulders and I quickly added, "It doesn't matter, Amelia. She probably would have come up with it sooner or later…emphasis on later, by the time she came up with it the weather would be so cold that she'd be really perky in her hot pink sports bra!"

Everyone laughed until Amelia asked, "So what are we going to do about it?"

Well, that brought us back to reality.

"I think we should find Eric and talk about it with him privately. He'll know what to do," Tara stated confidently

"Works for me," I sighed, and Amelia nodded.

We looked back at the rest of the team and could see Eric lugging a huge cardboard box from the parking lot. This should be interesting…

We walked back to where everyone was sitting and watched Eric approach us. After he placed the box on the ground, he said, "Good afternoon, girls. Good to see all of you after such a long time!" Everyone giggled and he waited for them to stop before he continued. He shifted his weight and ran his fingers through his hair; I was beginning to think it was a nervous habit of his, like my crazy laughing.

"So, uh, you're probably wondering what's in this box. I got you guys practice pinnies the first day I found out I was to be your coach, so you could wear them during practice and we wouldn't have to waste time and laundry detergent. They are yours to keep. And they're reversible, so it will make scrimmaging easier. I wasn't actually going to bring them out until after practice, as a kind of reward for surviving my boot-camp, but seeing as some of you forgot your shirts, we can just start using them today. I want you guys to wear these to practice every day. I don't care what you wear underneath them…uh, as long as there actually is something underneath there," he hastily amended, probably trying to outmaneuver Ginger's actions so she wouldn't show up to practice tomorrow wearing her pinnie and nothing else on top. Smart man.

Everyone cheered and crowded around the box, grabbing for their pinnies. Eric wisely scooted out of the way and came over to stand next to us captains.

"Did the girls ever dress up…er, dress down…like this when Bill was coach?"

"Nope. And just for the record, what you did just now was really smart. Nice thinking," I answered. Tara and Amelia nodded their heads in agreement. We were all glad that Eric knew how to deal with this (st)icky situation, because we sure didn't.

"Thanks, Stackhouse. Now, go get yours. My eyes are starting to burn from the color of your shirt and the scandalous words printed on it."

I rolled my eyes as Tara and Amelia choked up with laughter and moved to pick up a pinnie. After everyone was wearing theirs, we huddled around Eric.

"Okay, guys, so this week's practice is going to be strenuous in preparation for Friday's game. I'm talking timed running, sprints, abs exercises, arm exercises…it's a mini-tryout, basically. And I'm going to tell you why. Russell Edgington, who you may or may not recognize as the varsity coach of Shreveport, is a personal enemy of mine dating back to my college years. He deliberately slide tackled me because he was jealous and, in my opinion, insane, and that's how I tore my ACL and stopped playing soccer. I haven't seen him since that game – Friday will be the first time I've seen him in three years. And since I can't play soccer and, more importantly, am most definitely not a high school girl, I can't personally beat his team. I can't score a goal and rub it in his face, and I can't make a brilliant save as keeper. So I need you guys to do all of that for me. Now, CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME?"

"YES WE CAN!" we all cheered. We had fire in our bellies and a thirst for blood, that's for sure.

"I SAID, CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME?" Usually when anyone else did that they just seemed obnoxiously corny and cheerful, but when Eric said that it pumped us up even more.

"YES WE CAN!!!!"

"All right, here's what you're going to do. Captains, do your regular warm-up drill – it's a jog around the field and then a stretch, right? Yeah, okay, so do that, and come back here when you're done. Try not to mess up the cones that I arranged in such a beautiful pattern, unless you want to run an extra lap around the field. No joke, my back actually kind of hurts from placing them on the ground."

Once we were all stretched out we jogged back to Eric. He was holding a clipboard and a stopwatch – uh oh.

"So I'm going to let you guys choose if you want to do suicide sprints or do a timed two mile run first. Raise your hand if you want the sprints"

No one raised their hands – our years playing competitive soccer taught us to get the timed running out of the way first.

"Two mile run it is. The captains told me that you guys always had to bring your running shoes to practice with Bill, so did everyone still bring theirs? Yeah? Nice. So some of you might have noticed a small cluster of orange cones on Birch St. coming in – that's the one mile marker. You're going to start at the edge of the parking lot, just follow Birch until you get to the cones, and run back. I'm going to drive down there to make sure everyone actually runs to the cones, write down your one mile time, and then drive back here and write down your two mile time. I'm expecting everyone to do this under sixteen minutes. That's two eight minute miles, if you want to pace yourself. Of course, it'll look better if you can run a faster time. Alright, let's do this."

We swapped our cleats for sneakers and slowly made our way to the street. As we started running out of the parking lot, moving to the side of the road once Eric's Corvette drove past beeping loudly, I kept my ears open for any complaints, but there weren't any – not even from Ginger. Although I did wish that Eric could have warned us so I could bring my iPod running band, but it wasn't that big of a deal; I was doing fine without it.

I had always been the fastest runner on the team, and I established a pretty good distance between me and the rest of the girls. Running always came easily to me – it was one of those things I was naturally good at, like having a good smile or playing poker (a talent Jason could easily attest to, as he never really liked having his younger sister always flatten him in what he thought was the manliest card game. Yep, manliest card game, that's Jason for ya).

Soon I couldn't even hear the panting and heavy breathing from the rest of the team; I was that far ahead of them. I could see Eric's car about a hundred yards away, and Eric was leaning against it like he had been before we went out to lunch, only this time he was holding a clipboard in his hand. Once I got close enough, about twenty yards away, I slowed down into a parody of a _Baywatch_ slow jog and watched Eric roar with laughter.

"I want to kiss you now, Stackhouse, but you're all sweaty and gross."

"Don't be such a girl, Northman. What's my time?"

"6:05. Very impressive. I can't wait to see what your final score will be," he answered. I got the vibe that he was such a big runner and soccer fan like me that the comment wasn't meant to be mysterious or sarcastic; he just wanted to know what my time would be. Probably to compare it to his, but whatever, it was a sports thing. And I kind of wished he would compare it to his and then tell me, so I could see how my running stacked up against a NCAA Division One soccer player…ex-NCAA Division One soccer player.

"See ya in six minutes, then," I replied, turning to start running back. Since I knew his eyes would probably be glued to my ass – because he's a guy and frankly because he's a guy standing all alone in the middle of the road in the middle of the forest, where else is he going to look? – I ran with an exaggerated swing in my hips, just to get a laugh from him. But I didn't get my predicted response. I looked back and Eric had the same bug-eyed look that he had on the dock, when I flashed him. Well, not exactly the reaction that I wanted, but his was fine with me.

I met up with the rest of the team very quickly – by my calculations everyone was going to be able to stick to the 8 minute mile time – and the girls all mock-groaned, "Sookie, you're making us look bad! Slow down!" But they were cute about it – when I ran past them everyone formed a single-file line and stuck their hand out, so when I ran past everyone gave me a high-five. It was a ritual we always used for when the starters were announced, a big sign of respect, and I was grateful for it.

I could spot the turn for the parking lot about half a mile away when I heard Eric's car in the distance. He slowed down so that he was driving about as fast as I was running, and rolled down his window.

"Wanna race?" he asked, lounging in his pretty car and taking a long, luxurious swig from his aluminum water bottle. Humpff.

I stared at him confusedly, and he slowly sped up in front of me. I matched his speed, but then he sped up so of course I sped up. I sprinted the last half-mile, always staying even with Eric's car. Once I entered the parking lot I slowly walked around in circles, hands crossed above my head to help my heavy breathing. My armpits were soaked and my hair was dripping with sweat, but the look Eric gave me as he exited the car and started walking towards me made me feel like I was wearing a ball gown and walking the red carpet.

"11:26. Jesus, Stackhouse, you just ran a five-and-a-quarter minute mile. I was running that my senior year in college. Seriously, _nice job_. You should be proud of yourself – I know I am."

My first thought was, _No wonder I feel so winded – my former best all-around time was a 5:40 mile. _

My second thought was, _HAH I knew he'd compare my time to his. Jocks are SO predictable_.

"Thanks, Northman. Although you deserve some credit, because there's no way I would have been motivated enough to sprint that last half mile."

"That's kind of you," he answered, offering his silver water bottle. I took a deep sip and gave it back to him. He put his mouth where mine had been and drank greedily, never once looking away from me.

After that we both leaned against his car (after he made a semi-serious joke about not sweating too much on his "baby") and waited for the rest of the team to come up. I was proud of everyone – the longest time was 15:30. Eric was really proud too, as his trademark shit-eating grin was etched onto his face for the entirety of the ten-minute break he gave us to catch our breath and put our cleats on.

Unfortunately, that trademark shit-eating grin stayed on his face as we did half-field suicides, full field sprints around the sidelines, forty pushups (and not even "girl pushups" on your knees – I was waiting for him to tell us to do one-armed pushups), 100 crunches, agility ladder drills, dribbling exercises, shooting drills, 1 v. 1 matchups, and an 8 v. 8 scrimmage at the end. The smile stopped being hot and started being annoying right after the pushups.

I don't know if it's because I was so tired or what, but Eric's skewed "separate Eric the Coach from Eric the Boyfriend" logic was actually making sense to me because right now I was definitely pissed at Eric the Coach who was making me work arm muscles that I would never use as a soccer player, but I still liked Eric the Boyfriend who brought me a milkshake and exchanged flirty emails with me.

As soon as Eric had us gather around him and started to say, "Nice practice, everyone –" we plopped on the ground and laid on our backs. We were all in great shape, but Eric wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't a nice guy on the soccer field. Bill had never crammed that many activities into a single two-hour practice. To say I was tired was like saying Eric was attractive.

He chuckled, and we did too – those of us who weren't out of breath.

"To be fair, I did warn you that it'd be a tough practice!"

"Eric, that is _so_ not what you should have said after making us work so hard. It's even worse than saying 'I told you so.' Seriously," Amelia groaned.

He snorted before saying, "Point taken. Would it help if I said that you guys definitely went above and beyond my expectations? I am very pleased with today's results. You guys are amazing. Today was our fitness practice, and I think tomorrow's practice will be more soccer-oriented – drills, plays, scrimmages, those kinds of things. I might have a friend swing by to help out, but nothing's definitive as of now. So when you're lying on your couch icing your legs – which all of you guys should do, I'd be offended if you aren't sore! – and feeling pissed at me, just remember that you guys seriously kicked ass tonight and your hard work is going to pay off on Friday, as well as the rest of the season. So take it easy, okay? And Amelia, no Dance Dance Revolution tonight – I heard your remark about how the doing the agility ladders was like playing the hardest level of DDR!"

We all whooped and hollered at a blushing Amelia and I marveled at how Eric was able to get a bunch of pooped-out, whiny teenage girls to laugh with him even though five minutes earlier they were cursing his name.

As we took off our soccer gear, Eric walked around the field picking up all of his stupid cones. He was still doing that when everyone started shuffling to their cars and driving out of the parking lot. I made my way over to my car, saying good night to anyone who passed by, and pretended to be looking for my keys in my bag until Eric's car and mine were once again the only ones there. I then walked back and started throwing some of his stuff into his mammoth coaching bag, like his water bottle, his clipboard, and his stopwatch. Once he saw me packing up, he started sprinting around picking up the rest of the cones – now it was my turn to be impressed with his speed.

"Hey," he greeted me when he finished. "Thanks for helping me clean up."

"No problem. So on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the best, how did today's practice rate?"

"Perfect ten, no doubt about it. I was telling the truth tonight when I said that the team went above and beyond my expectations, just like how I was telling the truth when I said I was proud of you. I mean, I'm still in awe over your running time! You are a perfect ten in every sense of the word – you even managed to look hot in that wild shirt of yours! And you had a pretty good practice as well; I noticed you came in first for all of the sprints."

"Well, Northman, I'd give tonight's practice a 9 – would have been a 10 if it weren't for those worthless pushups."

"Will this make it a 10?" he murmured, dropping all of the cones and pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me harder and more passionately than before, not even caring that I was grimy and dirty and just all around gross, which was an amazing feat in itself. Only Eric would kiss me after I just spent two hours running my ass off, and it made me like him even more. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that now it was _his_ tongue opening my mouth, _his_ teeth biting my lip, _his _fingers running through my sweat-dried hair and freeing it from my ponytail.

After spending about fifteen unnecessary seconds freaking out about my odor and my sticky hair and my lack of Chapstick moisture on my lips, I gave up thinking and started reacting and doing. I kissed back just as eagerly, alternating between desiring and being desired.

I melted in his mouth like honey and I became that sweet, sticky liquid; his hot fingers on my face left thumb-sized gaping holes where more honey gushed out of me. His kisses made me feel feeble and weak-kneed and every other clichéd adjective I used to make fun of before I actually experienced those kinds of romance-movie kisses that could make me feel hot and cold at the same time. I was Scarlett O'Hara and he was Rhett Butler; I was Jane Eyre and he was Mr. Rochester; I was Elizabeth Bennet and he was Mr. Darcy.

I was Sookie Stackhouse and he was Eric Northman.

I started shivering in his arms, partly because of what his lips were doing to me and partly because of the steadily decreasing temperature. He recognized this and gently pulled away from me. I whimpered without an ounce of shame or regret. He scooped up his duffel bag like it was stuffed with feathers and, taking my hand, led me to our cars. I opened my door and then turned around to face him. He had tucked his bag into his trunk and was now leaning against his car.

"So I'll ask again, did that make practice a 10?" he smirked, already knowing the answer.

"No, it went up to 11," I replied back, giggling when his eyes lit up and I could tell he understood the reference. That was why I liked him, I thought rosily; he "got" me.

"Yes, this night went up to 11 for me as well. Would it be corny if I said it could go up to 12 if you gave me your phone number?" He asked, smooth as ice cream.

"Not at all. Let me enter it in your phone," I replied giddily. He handed over his glue-stick sized flip phone and I snorted at the sight of the puny device.

"What?"

"Nothing. Here, I entered my digits and dialed my phone, so now I have your number. Happy?"

"More than I ever thought I could be," he responded sincerely. I blushed now that I knew the reason behind his sparkly words. "You really should rest tonight, Sookie. I'm sorry that I will have made it painful for you to walk tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know – and we didn't even have sex yet!" I responded, jumping into my car and pulling out before he could reply – my revenge for yesterday's "bring a bathing suit, unless you want to make a really good first impression and go skinny dipping" snipe from Merlotte's.

Even with my iPod blaring I could hear his maniac peals of laughter radiating outside of my car. I giggled the entire ride home.

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone – sorry about the late post! I don't like excuses, so the reasons as to why this is late are as follows: I had to write the script for a play version of one of the stories from **_**The Canterbury Tales**_** (a 14****th**** century "literary masterpiece" for those of you lucky enough not to have read it), a 50-couplet tale of a modern pilgrim written in iambic pentameter with an alternating ending rhyme scheme, two newspaper articles for the local paper (I work as an intern there), a compare-and-contrast essay between the philosophical ideologies of John Locke and Thomas Hobbes, and I had five tests last week. One of the negatives of Thanksgiving Break is all of the work you have to do before it :(**

**Oh, and I finished my entry for the "Poppin' Eric's Cherry" contest – it's called "Fill My Pot" and as soon as you finish reading/reviewing this (which I really hope you do!) you should totally hop on over to my profile and click the link and read/review it (which, again, I really hope you do!). And any other virgin or almost-virgin writers should hurry up and submit a one-shot – it's not as scary as it seems!! (is that a euphemism? naaaaah, of course not!)**

**Anyways, so now you know. Sorry I made you wait! But the 9,149 words should make up for it, right? Especially those in that last scene ;)**

These characters are not mine – I just took them out for some exercise.

Thank you to chiisai-kitty for betaing this on such short notice even though DWTS and The Good Wife were on! :) Any lingering, pesky mistakes are mine.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't own these characters…they pretty much own me. And my life. And I don't own the lyrics to U2's "Beautiful Day"…although I do own U2 tickets and concert shirts!**

**Cyber snaps for my beta buddy, chiisai-kitty! The little comments and quips she leaves about the chapter practically deserve a story of their own!**

"_Here, I entered my digits and dialed my phone, so now I have your number. Happy?"_

"_More than I ever thought I could be," he responded sincerely. I blushed now that I knew the reason behind his sparkly words. "You really should rest tonight, Sookie. I'm sorry that I will have made it painful for you to walk tomorrow."_

"_Yeah, I know – and we didn't even have sex yet!" I responded, jumping into my car and pulling out before he could reply – my revenge for yesterday's "bring a bathing suit, unless you want to make a really good first impression and go skinny dipping" snipe from Merlotte's._

_Even with my iPod blaring I could hear his maniac peals of laughter radiating outside of my car. I giggled the entire ride home._

* * *

I dreamed about Eric again –

I woke up snuggled against Eric's bare chest, our naked legs intertwined like cherry-flavored Twizzlers under the dark red sheets. With the soft sunlight streaming down onto his face, he looked like an angel with his vibrant blue eyes and golden hair – but he had the body of a god. He was already awake and watching me watch him with a smile in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Once he saw that I was done gawking at him, he smiled and reached over to play with my tousled hair.

"You have that sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed look," he purred.

"Except I haven't just rolled out of bed. I intend on staying in bed with you," I murmured, using my finger to trace his jaw line and his morning scruff.

"Doing what? Tell me what you want to do in bed with me," he replied, inching closer to me so that I could now see the different shades of blue in his eyes.

"Better yet, I'll show you," I answered, licking my lips.

"_It's a beautiful day, sky falls you feel like it's a beautiful day, don't let it get away"_

What? Eric was serenading me with the brilliant words of U2? It was cute and all, but I kind of wanted his mouth to be open for a different reason.

"_It's a beautiful day, sky falls you feel like it's a beautiful day, don't let it get away"_

The image of Eric naked in bed with me became hazier and hazier until he disappeared, leaving me wide awake and slightly sweaty in my own bed with my cell phone blaring in my ear. Oy.

I snapped open the phone, prepared to verbally chew off the ear of whatever idiot tried to call me at 7:03 am. I softened when I saw it was a text message – a text message from "Northman."

"_Still laughing about ur comment from last night. Well played, Stackhouse. Meet me early at fields again? No agility ladders, I promise –E"_

Reflecting on the irony that Eric woke me up from the sexy dream I was having that involved him, I typed back, _"Sry, I have a mega WWI history test tomorrow that I need to study 4 and I hav 2 work 2night. Wah. –S"_

As I waited for him to reply I yawned and walked over to my closet to pick out my clothes for the day. I felt lazy and – Eric was absolutely right – sore, so I just grabbed a black cotton sundress with spaghetti straps that I've had forever, a pretty jade cardigan, and a pair of silver sandals that I had picked up at Walmart.

"_It's a beautiful day, sky falls –"_ I opened Eric's text as quickly as I could without breaking the phone.

"_Y don't u come early anyways and I can help u study? Sweden may have been neutral, but we still had to learn about it. –E"_

Well, when he put it like that…

"_K, u win. We r really going 2 study tho…maybe there can b a reward 4 me 4 every right answer? –S"_

Still clutching my phone, I one-handedly picked out the practice pinnie, a pair of white spandex, a pair of white soccer shorts, a black Merlotte's shirt that Sam gave me when he ordered too many of them to be sold at the restaurant, and a pair of forest green soccer socks. I stuffed the apparel in my soccer bag and threw it near the door so I'd remember to bring it to my car.

"_It's a beautiful –"_

"_Deal. I like the way u think, and I'll like the way u study. C u there. –E"_

* * *

My good mood about my upcoming study date with Eric lasted about an hour, thanks to John Quinn, or "The Tiger" as the rest of the school calls him. Armed with a shaved head (but really, it just looks like he's bald) and violet eyes (like Elizabeth Taylor violet or the color of the pansies Gran always plants), he somehow managed to be crowned the major male hottie of the school for reasons I can't understand. I mean, he got his nickname because of his ferociousness both on the soccer field and supposedly in bed (and believe me, that's one of the many reasons he used to try to persuade me into "dating" him, along with the fact that we're both captains of our school's varsity soccer squads and because "we'd totally look all hot together and stuff") and although he's smarter than a box of hair, it's not by much.

"Hey, sexy Sookie. I like the way you look in your dress," he called out to me while letting two giggling freshman girls visit the "Tiger gun show" thanks to his weird sleeveless violet silk shirt. You could just tell he picked because it matched his eyes; it was unbuttoned all the way down to his belly button like he was a genie stripper. He also had on baggy jeans that were so loose that you could see his boxer-clad butt, and he was modeling a big gold hoop earring – larger than other hoop earrings that I'd seen on guys. Or pirates. I'll quote Tara here to make my point – "The bigger the hoop, the bigger the ho."

"Hey, queer Quinn. I like the way you look as a blur when I walk past you, because that means I don't have to see your wannabe gangsta Aladdin outfit," I retorted, not even glancing in his direction as I bounced up the stairs.

"C'mon Stackhouse, don't be like that," he responded after promising, "Later, babes?" to the pouting freshman and running to catch up with me.

I furiously whirled around to face him and snarled, "Don't call me Stackhouse. Don't call me sexy Sookie. Just call me Sookie like everyone else does, because you're no different from them. And don't say gross and inappropriate things like "I like the way you look in your dress" to me. You may be the captain of the soccer team and Tony the freakin' Tiger but when you talk to me you will talk to me like the lady that I am."

"Hey babe, I'm more than good, I'm grrrr-eat! And you are quite the lady, Sookie. You sure as hell are not a girl," he attempted to say suavely, but he just ended up sounding like he belonged on a bad Mexican soap opera. Hey, he already kinda looked the part.

"That's enough! Just shut up Quinn! Your nickname should be "The Pig!" I snapped, ducking into the girl's bathroom to get away from him. As the door closed, I heard, "It's The Tiger for a reason, babe!" Uggh.

After exactly two fuming minutes passed, I ventured out into the hallway, which was decidedly Quinn-free, and into my history class. Our teacher had us make flash cards in preparation for tomorrow's test, and I felt cheered up while thinking of how I could use them to study with Eric.

* * *

Because I didn't need to rush home to pick up my soccer stuff, I quickly changed into my practice clothes at school and arrived at the soccer field even earlier than yesterday, but Eric was already there, sitting Indian style on a large yellow beach towel and reading _The New York Times_. Hot, athletic, and updated on current events? Insta-swoon.

"Hey, Stackhouse," he greeted me as I plopped myself next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey, Northman," I answered nonchalantly, "Lousy. School seemed endless – it was in the way of me coming here and talking with you. But why did you ask how I was feeling? That's an odd phrase."

"One of my American pet peeves is when people ask how I am doing or simply how I am. I'm not _doing_ 'good,' like I would be by donating to a charity, and I _am not_ 'good,' like I would be if I was a superhero; I am _feeling_ 'good.' I just make it a point to ask someone how they are _feeling_."

"I'll remember that: in addition to being a tough coach and an ex-soccer player, Eric also works part-time for the grammar police. So tell me, Northman, how are you _feeling_?"

"I am feeling well." Grammar FBI.

"Okay, so now I'm curious to see whether you're just as OCD about history as you apparently are about English. I wasn't kidding about the whole 'I really need to study' thing; I have an 89.4 and I really want to have a beautiful A- on my report card."

"I want you to know that I wasn't kidding when I said I would help you study, especially with your genius invention of a rewards system. Let's review that first, shall we?"

"We shall. I brought flashcards, so you can just quiz me using them…how about for every right answer I can ask you a personal question that you have to answer, and for every wrong answer you can ask me a personal question that I have to answer?"

"So the idea of answering questions about yourself is a punishment?"

"NO! No no no! I just can't think of any other way to have it so that you get to ask me questions! We can play a different version of this later, okay?"

"Relax, Stackhouse, I was just kidding. Now, hand over the flashcards – no peeking!"

I rolled over so I was lying on my side, propped up by my right elbow. Eric then copied my pose, except he was facing me and was propped up by his left elbow.

"Alright, this man was assassinated along with his wife by a Bosnian nationalist, which some say triggered the outbreak of World War I," Eric said, making the card 'dance' towards my face as I tried to think of the answer.

I laughed and pushed his hand away before responding, "Archduke Franz Ferdinand!"

"Correct. Did you know that the band "Franz Ferdinand" was named after him?"

"Huh, that's weird, I don't remember writing that down on an index card. And I definitely don't remember my stuffy, seventy-nine year-old history teacher with the brick-red toupee talking about that during class. And I also don't remember answering that question incorrectly, so I'm pretty sure that it's my turn to ask you a question!"

He groaned and slapped himself and the index card on his forehead. (Oh, that I could be that index card, that I may touch that brow! Wait, we're not studying for _Romeo and Juliet_, are we?) He waved his hand for me to ask away.

"So if you were having a dinner party and needed to invite five people, regardless of what century they're from, who would you invite?"

"Anyone?"

"Absolutely anyone."

He sighed and answered, "Well…that definitely beats 'what's your favorite color?' or 'what's your favorite childhood memory?' hands down. So five people, huh? Okay, that would be…Hunter S. Thompson, pre-_Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail_ but post-_Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_…Keith Richards pre-_Exile on Main St_…uh…Megan Fox circa now…what is that? Three? Okay, uh…Johnny Depp circa now…and…and…um…Pam Ravenscroft."

"Aha, I was waiting for a soccer player! Why Pam Ravenscroft? Why not Pelé or David Beckham – you seemed to like him well enough to emulate his hair style!"

"Not your turn to ask a question, remember? Payback's a bitch," he responded gleefully.

"Payback's a big, blond, Swedish bitch," I muttered under my breath.

He laughed before saying, "This rigid airship was used for air raids by Germany during World War I."

"The Zeppelin. And yes, I know that the Jimmy Page/Robert Plant/John Paul Jones/John Bonham band of awesomeness and guitar orgasms took the latter part of its name from that airship. And yes, I know that the band got their name because The Who's Keith Moon said that the band would sink like a 'lead zeppelin.' So save me your music snob questions and answer me this: why Pam Ravenscroft?"

He snorted – he totally was going to sneak in the Led Zeppelin reference before I shot that idea down like it was a lead zeppelin. Hah. He said, "Let's see…do you remember how I said I came down to Louisiana to be a sports agent for a friend? And how I said I was currently sleeping on a friend's couch until I found my own place?"

I nodded, realizing that reminding him that it wasn't his turn to ask questions wouldn't really be practical.

He continued, "Do you remember how I said I might have a friend swing by practice and help me out?"

I gasped, "Oh. My. God. PAM RAVENSCROFT is your friend, isn't she? She's like the most famous female American soccer player since Mia Hamm! Eric, she has her own WHEATIES BOX! She even has her own line with ADIDAS!!"

"I know," he replied smugly, "I negotiated those contracts."

"Eric, it is absolutely imperative that you tell me everything about her. How did you meet? How long have you known her? What's she like?"

"Hey, you didn't answer a WWI question."

"Hey, I didn't answer a WWI question incorrectly but I still let you ask me if I remembered about your friend and your sleeping on the couch."

"Touché. As I'm sure you know, Pam played for the UNC Tar Heels around the same time I did. She was two years behind me. As you'll see when you meet her, she's different…she's loud and abrasive and kind of in-your-face. She's not the easiest person to digest, but I first noticed her because she didn't try and attach herself to me and my rising star. So we hung out a lot and semi-saw each other, but then she decided that she liked women more than men, and as strange as it sounds that made us even closer. And when I was the assistant coach for her team, we bonded even more. She's my family, really. I went with her to the 2008 Summer Olympics in China when she played for the national team and scored that _amazing_ goal in the last 30 seconds to win the gold medal; she went with me to the hospital when I got injured and pretended she was my sister so she could stay with me the whole time."

"Wow, Eric, I had no idea. I can't wait to meet her. I can honestly say she's one of my heroes and idols. I even wrote about her in a college admissions essay about who my idol is. In fact, if you asked me the dinner party question, I would have invited her too."

"She can't wait to meet you either."

I shrieked, "Pam Ravenscroft knows who I am! Aaaaaaah! What did you say about me?"

"Which state existed in 1919, but NOT in 1914?"

"POLAND! POLAND! POLAND! ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION, NORTHMAN!"

He laughed before answering, "She could tell something was up when I came home two days ago. And her suspicions were confirmed when, don't laugh, I might have, um, been having a dream about you that caused me to scream your name. Repeatedly. At 3 am."

Laughing wasn't the first reaction that came to mind. It wasn't even the second. Nope, it was gasping, smiling, and kissing, in that order.

I inched closer to Eric and softly kissed him on the lips to show him that I didn't think he was a complete sketch for dreaming about me…I decided that I'd tell him about my dream at a later date, since I really wanted to know what he told Pam about me. After I ended the kiss, I rearranged myself so I was lying on my back; Eric mimicked my movement and did the same, scooting closer to me so our bodies were connected, like we were Siamese twins. Or a Siamese couple. After a couple seconds I said, "Northman, you didn't really answer my question, so I can ask it again. What did you say about me?"

He replied, "I didn't tell her anything about you…at first. So she looked you up on the Internet. Well, actually she looked up 'Sookie' and 'Bon Temps soccer' on the Internet, and she found a boat load of information. She actually printed everything out and even highlighted and color-coded relevant information from the articles– pink for personal life and yellow for soccer life. That's why I knew you were an All-American and you lived with your Gran."

I opened my mouth to say that I didn't remember talking about my parents or my Gran to any of the reporters and journalists, but then I realized that she probably found my parent's obituary. Oh. That.

When he saw that I wasn't contributing to the conversation, Eric hastily added, "Pam knows everything, Sookie. She kind of figured it out because, hey, why else would I be dreaming about you? But I trust Pam with my life, and I cannot wait for you to feel the same way about her. She's very loyal and if you're on her good side, then you'll always be on her good side, and she'll always watch out for you. I think she likes you already…I told her about the comment you made last night and she choked on the cherry tomato she was eating, she was laughing so hard. And, uh, you're kind of why she's coming to practice today, although please don't tell her I said that."

"Why, what would she do to you?"

"Torture me for the rest of my life. I'm not even kidding. I think part of the reason why she already is warmed up to the idea of you is because you give her material to make fun of me for. After I told her about the whole milkshake and whipped cream night she went out and bought like eleven cans of whipped cream. She changed my laptop desktop into your senior portrait that she found on Google…which isn't as creepy as it sounds, I promise. And you looked really pretty in your picture, but anyways she also bought this 200-count box of condoms and about ten different types of ice packs for me to give to you on account of your sex comment…which I'm totally not going to do because that actually is creepier than it sounds."

"Oh, Eric, I'm so sorry that you had to endure all of that by yourself!"

"Don't be. I mean, I didn't have to tell her anything about us, or about you, but I wanted to because I really like you, even though I've only known you for less than a week. You're already really important to me, and not because you're my best player. And Pam sees that. Believe it or not, I haven't really had a lot of serious relationships…my last one was with Pam, actually, so she could tell that this was big for me. I think she's really happy for me, but she just expresses herself in her own unique way. I mean, she wasn't going to help out today; she really isn't the biggest fan of teenagers and she had even referred to it as 'enthralling the vermin,' but after I told her everything that happened between us, she started brainstorming her favorite drills and plays for us to use. She even picked out her coaching outfit last night, and this morning I saw that she bought herself a whistle."

I couldn't help myself – I might have "aaawwww-ed" like we were talking about a unicorn or a baby bunny, not an internationally renowned Olympian athlete.

Eric laughed and said, "Don't say that in front of Pam though – she'd probably eat your face off."

"Got it. Any other tips?"

"Honestly? Just be yourself. Worked for me, didn't it?"

"I guess. Ask me another flash card question. After all, my test tomorrow is on WWI, not Pam Ravenscroft."

He complied, and we studied for a while. I found out that his first kiss was when he was seven, and he only did it to prove to his buddies that cooties didn't actually exist; his parents died in a car crash when he was a freshman in college and he'll always regret that he wasn't able to spend enough time with them because of his soccer conflicts; he can't travel with a used toothbrush, even with a toothbrush cap, so he just buys new toothbrushes whenever he goes somewhere new; and if he could see any band perform it would be The Dirty Mac. He practically hyperventilated when I said that not only did I know who the band was (a supergroup consisting of John Lennon on vocals and rhythm guitar, Eric Clapton on lead guitar, Keith Richards on bass, and Mitch Mitchell of the Jimi Hendrix Experience on drums) but I knew when and where he'd be able to see the band perform (they only played together on one occasion – for the Rolling Stones's "Rock and Roll Circus" program they shot in 1968). Sample Northman quote: "Stackhouse, are you shitting me? Seriously, are you shitting me? You better not be shitting with me! If you're shitting with me, it'll be the last time, I swear. TELL ME YOU ARE NOT SHITTING WITH ME!"

I got a couple study questions wrong, so Eric asked me if I would rather have a third leg or a third arm (I said arm, but to be honest I have no idea where he got that question from or why he thought it was important); what animal I would want to be (a dolphin so I could swim all the time in the ocean, which I wish I could do but can't seeing as I live about four hours away from it); and what was the last song that I downloaded (I said I couldn't really answer that, seeing as the last thing that I downloaded was the newest album of the Derek Trucks Band, _Already Free_ – he said he had never heard of the band or of Derek Trucks, who used to play with the Allman Brothers Band, and asked, without any self-consciousness or sarcasm, if I could burn him a CD of some of the band's songs).

Our cozy "getting to know you while getting to know World War One" session was interrupted when a dark cloud fell over me and Eric. First I thought there was going to be a thunder storm, but then I realized it was a shadow. I peered up, up, up the miles of shaved (hey, I was really close! Sometimes you just notice these things) muscular legs, tiny black soccer shorts, a gold shirt embroidered with the little ADIDAS triangle on the chest, a whistle on a lanyard, and pale blonde hair to see the beautiful face of Pam Ravenscroft, one that was as familiar to me as Gran's or Jason's, contorted with a raised eyebrow, a blood red smirk, and a bemused expression.

"Hi, I'm Pam. You must be the reason why Eric's had to take so many showers and spike up my electric bill."

* * *

**A/N: Aaah…that Pam never disappoints! I've been thinking about doing a Pam POV next chapter just to stir things up Pam-style…thoughts? **

**I hope everyone had a scrumptious Thanksgiving…this is a little corny and definitely a little late, but I'm thankful for everyone who alerted/reviewed Score! so far! Seriously, you guys make me feel better than a big slice of pumpkin pie! **

**And sorry to the people that I told that I would have this out by Sunday…I was a little busy celebrating because I got accepted into college! WAHOOZ! So far it looks like Drexel University 2014, but it's still early…I think that's an okay reason to be a little late in posting, but sorry if you were crushed by the lack of a Score! story alert!**

**Also, a very adventurous reviewer sent me a hawt pic of Alexander Skarsgard playing soccer…I posted the link in my profile and I seriously recommend anyone without heart problems to check it out. He's even wearing maroon Puma cleats and a uniform reminiscent of the Tar Heel uniform!! I think that's a sign, don't you? If anyone else finds an AS soccer pic or story, please lemme know! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **__**These characters are not mine, I just coached them at soccer practice. **

**And an Alexander Skarsgard/Eric Northman-sized thank you to my beta, chiisai-kitty.**

"_Hi, I'm Pam. You must be the reason why Eric's had to take so many showers and spike up my electric bill."_

* * *

**PPOV:**

Sookie's eyes widened as Eric's showed off his best "don't fuck with me" glare that I loved to force out of hiding. Silly Eric, I already have…in every sense of the term. Million dollar question is, has she? I don't think so, although it's pretty clear Eric wants her. In fact, I'd say that he wants her more than he's ever wanted a woman…although I wouldn't say that out loud.

I had seen Sookie's pictures plastered all over the internet and read enough information to write an article about her that would be at least five times better than any of the ones I had studied online, but she still managed to intrigue me. She really did look like the innocent Southern belle that Eric had so lovingly described her as: golden blonde hair with natural looking highlights (and I should know – I do my own hair coloring, and sometimes Eric's in the winter when his hair gets a little darker and the contrast between his roots and lighter end strands make him look like a Russian prostitute…not like he'd ever own up to actually letting me fuss over his hair and put tin foil on it); a genuine bronze tan acquired from long hours frolicking under the sun, not fifteen minutes in a spray-tan booth; a makeup-free face that showed off her natural rosy lips and light blue eyes that still looked very surprised and slightly scared. Her hair was pulled back into a high no-fuss ponytail and she was just wearing regular workout clothes, not a sports bra and color-coordinated outfit like Eric said some of the foolish girls had donned yesterday. I could still tell she had a hot bod, both as a soccer player (strong calf muscles, small yet muscular legs) and as a woman (an impressive pair of Angel Cakes, a curvy hourglass figure). Well done, Eric.

"Yeah, except most people call me Sookie," she replied to my opening statement. I felt a corner of my mouth twitch up as I remembered how I had thought of the best way to introduce myself for the entirety of the thirty minute drive to the soccer fields, and she had already one upped me with her thirty-second response – _Well done, Sookie_. Eric snorted.

"Yes, I guess that would be more practical to use when I help coach you today…and also when I interact with you off of the soccer fields. Wouldn't you agree, _Eric_?"

"Absolutely, _Pam_, although I thought we both agreed that you would come at 3, and, golly gee now would you look at that, my watch says its 2:30. Care to explain?"

"Yeah, I used this as an excuse to get out of my snooze-fest of a business meeting with Gatorade. I'd expect a very agitated call tonight from Mr. Rodriguez; he did not take kindly to my calling him the equivalent of a human tyrannosaurus-rex, for reasons I simply cannot fathom," I sneered.

Sookie let a little laugh escape her lips, and I smiled. At least she had a sense of humor – Eric looked like he wanted to smack me. And not in a kinky kind of way.

"Damn it, Pam! Why the fuck would you do that? I would rhetorically ask if you had any idea how long it took me just to set up that conference and preliminary contract, but I know that you actually do because I live with you and you've seen how many times I've had to call Mr. Rodriguez!"

"Ice your balls, Eric. Of course I waited until after I signed the preliminary contract to call Mr. Rodriguez a human T-Rex. And you didn't even ask why I felt the need to insult him!" I mock pouted. His expression didn't change, but Sookie brought a hand up to daintily cover her mouth. What a doll. "It was because he refused to give a donation to the Pam Ravenscroft 3 v. 3 charity soccer tournament this Sunday. And I wasn't even thinking money – I thought he could give us a couple crates of Gatorade bottles or something."

"So why did you call him a T-Rex? You should have called him a badger!" Sookie said.

A badger? Where the hell did that come from? Eric and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Sookie looked a little miffed and asked, "What's so funny?"

"A badger? What kind of dinky Discovery Channel documentary did you watch?" Eric snorted.

"A really informative one! Badgers are very sneaky mammals. They're not afraid to attack coyotes," she replied confidently, like that would explain everything. Sookie's reasoning made us laugh even harder. This girl deserved her own television show.

"Sookie, you sound like a talking biology text book. It's very becoming," I managed in between laughing bouts. Every time I sneaked a peek at Eric's dancing eyes or Sookie's innocent, questioning face I cracked up; Eric seemed to be having the same problem.

"What's so funny?" We whipped our heads around to see who was talking – a beautiful girl with beautiful copper hair and freckles who was wearing a deliciously tight red tee shirt and mini black soccer shorts.

"Hey, Amelia," Sookie responded, "Pam here said she insulted someone by calling him a human T-Rex, and I said she should have called him a badger because they're very tricky animals."

"Well, yeah, they're not afraid to attack coyotes," Amelia responded matter-of-factly. Eric and I just started guffawing again. It was too, too funny. Eric had to sit down he was laughing so hard, and of course that set me off. The man was even crying! I could feel some moisture around my eyes though – I was leaking too. I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed this much for this long. I also couldn't remember the last time Eric looked so happy.

"Wow, I should take a picture. I can just see the Perez Hilton caption: Pam Ravenscroft seen laughing it up in Bon Temps, Louisiana," Amelia quipped.

"You wouldn't dare," I warned. One of the biggest negatives of being a world-famous soccer player was the constant publicity and media attention that came with it – you'd think given the state of the economy and the health care bill and the Middle East crisis there'd be more things to report on than me driving a mini-van (of course, as Eric pointed out, I was practically writing their headlines – "Soccer Star Drives Soccer Mom Car") or what shoes I was wearing (ever since I wore a pair of sexy Jimmy Choo fuck-me pumps to a publicity event everyone thought I was a kind of high heel guru). And for whatever reason, that Perez Hilton made it his mission to collect as many Pam Ravenscroft pictures as possible, especially if they were hideous candid shots of me in a velour track suit hailing a taxi.

"Of course not! Although he does seem to think you're fierce and fabulous." Smart girl.

More females began walking over to us in various shades of shirts and shorts. I was oddly comforted with the sight – for the national team, we always had to wear our all-black practice uniforms and it was boring. I could tell that a couple of the players recognized me, but they didn't start crying or freaking out, _thank God!_ Eric nodded over to where he had placed that stinky coaching bag he had used since his playing days in college, and together we moved away from the team to talk shop.

A small spasm of laughter escaped my lips when I saw Sookie lacing up her Easter egg-pink soccer cleats. They were the exact same ones I tried to persuade Eric into letting me wear during games, except I couldn't because my ADIDAS contract specifically included a clause about me wearing ADIDAS cleats at all times. Although it would soon be time for me to design the winter portion of my line….I could include pink soccer cleats and then I could wear them for matches…

"Pam, snap out of it. Stop being distracted by the pastel," Eric ordered. He knew I had a serious weakness for pretty colors.

"Yes, _Coach_ _Northman_," I retorted, batting my eyelashes. "What did you want to talk about?"

"What did you think about Sookie?"

"I find her… titillating," I responded coyly, eagerly anticipating Eric's reaction to my very pun-ny sexual innuendo.

"Fuck, Pam, I'm not asking you if you'd take her home and dance in the sheets with her," he snarled. Whoops, guess Sookie's boobs are a no joking zone. He was in full-out crazy eyes mode: they were a hard-to-look-at neon highlighter kind of blue.

"Titillating has other meanings, Eric. Get your mind out of the gutter."

He didn't say anything, but folded his arms across his chest and spread his legs shoulder-width apart. Aha, now Eric has drifted into macho mode.

"Pam. This is serious. Sookie is important to me, and you of all people should know that. You are my best friend, and your opinion matters. I'm going to ask you again, and this is the last time. What did you think about Sookie?"

"So far I like what I see," I said, relishing the fact that Eric's eyes narrowed, "and hear. She seems like a lot of fun. I'm partial to her."

Eric nodded, and then stared off into the distance with the same worried expression he had worn when I first nonchalantly asked him who Sookie was and why he was dreaming about her.

* * *

_*Flashback to Tuesday *_

I was awakened by the sound of a very erotic moan seeping in under the crack of my bedroom door, out from the living room where Eric was currently nesting on my couch. _'Shit, I better not find him tickling his Elmo,_' I thought angrily, groaning as I covered my face with my pillow. The extra goose feathers and cotton covering didn't drown out another Eric rumble, or the "Sookie!" he screamed. _'Sookie? What was a Sookie? Was that a girl's name? Eric brought another girl home? How the hell did he manage to persuade her to do it on the couch…right across from the 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' original movie poster? And when did she come in? After Eric's first soccer practice I had taken him out for celebratory drinks and we had both come home around midnight to go to bed.'_ Now I was curious…

Pretending to be a super cool ninja in a satin nightie, I tiptoed over to the door and, already smiling in anticipation of surprising Eric and this 'Sookie' girl, flung it open to see…Eric curled up on the couch with his legs spilling out from underneath the blankets to dangle off the edge of the sofa and both hands tucked under his cheek. He was sound asleep like a hot little man-baby. _Can I get a 'What The Fuck?"_

"Sookie," he whispered softly. If I hadn't been shocked into silence, I probably wouldn't have heard it. Eric was dreaming about a girl. Eric Fucking Northman was fucking dreaming about a fucking girl. Or dreaming about fucking a girl. This was better than the DVD stashed in my sock drawer of a very hammered Eric on his twenty-first birthday singing karaoke to "… Baby One More Time," without even needing to look at the sing-along screen, twirling around like a very slutty ballerina.

Four hours later, when Eric was leaning over to pour me a cup of coffee, I very casually said, "It's supposed to be about 70º today. Who is Sookie?"

Just as I anticipated, Eric sputtered and spilled coffee everywhere. Not even wincing in pain as the steaming liquid dripped off his fingers, he barked, "What did you say?"

"It's supposed to be about 70º today."

"The other part," he demanded, eyes practically sizzling with intensity.

"Who is Sookie?"I innocently repeated, shrugging my shoulders.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I tried asking you this morning when you were crying out her name in your sleep, but you just wouldn't elaborate."

He stood very still, not even registering the mess he had made all over himself and my beautiful granite countertop. His hands were strangling the coffee pot; his knuckles resembled bony white Tic-Tacs.

He deliberately looked into the living room and muttered, "She's just this girl I met, that's all."

"Bullshit. You've never been attached to a girl so much that you'd dream about her. Why are you lying to me after everything we've been through?"

He didn't say anything, didn't look at me, didn't move. I slowly slid a manila folder over to Eric; he opened it and sighed when he saw a picture of the Sookie I thought he was dreaming about.

I had already Googled 'Sookie' and 'Bon Temps' and found a match. It actually wasn't that hard to do – first I Googled 'Sookie' and 'Shreveport' and discovered old newspaper articles about a 'Sookie Stackhouse' of Bon Temps who had scored a game-winning goal against the Shreveport soccer team in last year's playoffs. After that, the mysterious Sookie became a little less mysterious.

I couldn't fall asleep after being bombarded with the realization that Eric really liked a girl, so I had spent the morning researching this Sookie and printing out interesting statistics or articles, even color-coding them like the neat freak that I am.

Pink – the color of _loooove_ – meant personal information: Susannah "Sookie" Stackhouse, born August 11, 1991. Lived with her grandmother, an Adele Stackhouse, who was the president of the Descendents of the Glorious Dead (I figured it was this hippy Grateful Dead fan club and decided it'd be better for me and my eyes if I didn't investigate it). Parents died in a freak car accident due to a sudden flash flood when she was seven. One older brother, a Jason Stackhouse, who was a star quarterback and captain for the Bon Temps football team; led them to States his senior year, which was in 2004. Earned a scholarship to Louisiana State University but dropped out his sophomore year.

Yellow – but in my head it was gold, for victory – meant soccer information: Class of Bon Temps High 2010. Captain of the girl's varsity soccer team; she had been a starting player since her freshman year. All-American athlete her junior year, with 35 goals and 12 assists. Took the team to the state championships last year, but they lost 3-2. One of the top scorers in the state, and also in the country. Played for the Metro FC soccer club team since she was 12, helped them win eight different tournaments and two state championships. Hasn't said if she's playing in college, but scouts had been regulars at her games since she was a sophomore.

I waited for Eric to tell me I was wrong. I waited for Eric to tell me he wasn't in love with this barely legal teenage girl. She had probably recognized his name and wanted some of his money or good luck to rub off on her.

"I guess I shouldn't have snuck you into my journalism classes," Eric said quietly.

"So I know everything about this girl: statistics, personal life, achievements. I just want to know why you're dreaming about her."

He turned away from me and shakily whispered, "It's really bad, Pam."

"What's really bad? Does she know? Freudian slip of the tongue? Did she catch you checking her out? Come on, you can tell me," I said, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder.

That's when he opened his mouth to explain; it was like once he started he couldn't stop talking. He told me _everything_: how she accidentally flashed him and saw his consequential hard-on (any other time I would have hurt myself laughing, but now all I could do was gape), how she said she wanted them to be serious, how she initiated their first kiss.

His voice was shaky and warbled and so unlike the low, husky sex tone I was used to. His eyes were pleading with me, asking me to understand and not be judgmental. I could tell that he was really enamored with this girl.

"At least she's eighteen," I tried, not knowing how to react when your bachelor best friend pours his heart out to you. I was not used to this mushy relationship stuff, and Eric wasn't either. 'Hit it and quit it,' we had always joked. But no one's laughing now.

He nodded. I nodded back. He nodded again.

"Eric, should I put my arms around your neck and place my body close to yours?" I asked, remembering how friends usually did that after big moments in movies or whatever.

"You're offering to hug me?" He looked as surprised as I'm sure I did when he was telling me about Sookie.

"Don't get used to it, Eric. It's just…ugh, I fucking hate lovey-dovey shit! And, uh, I don't know how to do this but…um…okay, well, _I'mhereforyouandI'_. There."

He laughed devilishly, sounding like the normal Eric and not the "Lifetime Movie of the Week" sappy kind of Eric he had been a couple of moments ago. He teased, "Gee thanks, Pam. If you're so here for me, why don't you come to practice tomorrow? You could meet Sookie and help me earn mucho brownie points with the team. Plus, it will be fun!" He looked at my skeptical face and added, "Fun-ish."

"You know how I feel about silly teenage girls, I didn't like them when I was a teenage girl and I'm not gonna like them now that I'm an adult woman. I'm just not up for enthralling the vermin, Eric, I've got my training and the Gatorade deal and I'm trying to get my shit together for my charity soccer tournament this weekend. I'm sorry, I'm okay with you and Sookie, but I just am dealing with too much."

"Yeah, okay, we'll see," Eric responded, eyebrows furrowed together like they always are when he's planning something. If I knew Eric, he'd spend all day making a pros/cons list for me about going to his practice.

"No, you'll see that I'm not going," I replied, and flounced off to my room before he could come up with another response. Having the last word RULES.

But in the end, Eric kind of won, because for the rest of the day all I could think about was him and Sookie. I was so curious about what kind of spell this girl cast on the usually invincible Viking who had been sleeping on my sofa for the past couple of days.

With the exception of the Hallmark card sappiness that seeped through Eric's pores whenever he talked about her, I kind of liked the effect Sookie was having on him. Before he moved down South with me, he had been acting as mopey and bored as he had immediately after his ACL injury. Before this week, the only time he had really seemed alive was when he was ferociously negotiating my contracts and deals with various sporting goods companies. But now he was getting so friggin' excited about stupid little things like setting the table, which was what he was doing when I came home from my three-hour fitness session with the team's personal trainer.

"Hey! You're just in time! Dinner's almost ready, you'll never guess what I made," he practically sang as soon as I dragged myself across the doorway. He carefully placed the silverware on the table and rushed over to take my stinky soccer bags out of my hands and place them in my soccer closet. For what felt like the millionth time today, I was stunned. He fucking _hummed_ as he scampered over to the table to pull out a chair for me to sit in.

"Pam, take a seat. I'm sure you're tired from your session. I'm just finishing up the last of the raggmunks."

That bastard. He knew I had an insatiable craving for raggmunks, which, when literally translated into Eric's native language of Swedish, meant "hairy donuts." He only made them on very special occasions, like birthdays or important game days, but today I knew he was bribing me – with fried potato pancakes, no less.

He gently placed a steaming plate of raggmunks in front of me, crooning "Extra crispy, just the way you like them!" He also set down a plate of bacon (traditionally it's supposed to be fried pork, but I didn't mind), a jar of imported lingonberry jam from our trip to Sweden last summer, and his own plate of heaven. He waited for me to take a bite before he started shoving food in his mouth.

He knew better than to attempt conversation with me when there were raggmunks on the table, so we ate in a comfortable silence. As we cleared the table, I said, "Okay, let me have it. I know you've been dying to persuade me, so speak."

"Pam, today was fucking awesome! Sookie was a fucking goddess – she ran a 5:15 mile! You know, that's only a little slower than what you run. And the rest of the team was great too, they all ran really well. I already know we're going to have a shit-blasting season and we're going to rape Edgington's team on Friday. Which is partly why you should come to practice tomorrow, because you hate him almost as much as I do and I know one of your bucket list items is to get revenge for what he did too me, and if you come to practice tomorrow then you can cross it off and move on to bungee jumping or whatever. You know you want to. And anyways, I'd appreciate it, and I know the girls would too. I mean, Pam, you always say you do it for the fans and your fans are the best and you live for the fans – well, these girls are your fucking biggest fans. They're female soccer players and there really aren't a whole lot of heroes for them to look up to and idolize, but you're one of them," he speed-talked without taking a breath.

Boy did his homework, that's for sure. He had valid reasons and, of course, raggmunks.

"If you say yes, I'll bring out the prinsesstårta," he taunted, knowing full well that the only Swedish cuisine I loved more than raggmunks was the prinsesstårta, which was Swedish for "princess cake." It was a traditional Swedish cake consisting of alternating layers of airy cake, thick pastry cream, and jam, all topped with a thick layer of green homemade marzipan and powdered sugar. I chuckled remembering that the first time Eric had made it for me, after I got all A's on my freshman year midterms, I had taken one mouthful and promptly proclaimed that it was like sex for my mouth. He had been lifting his fork to his mouth when I practically screamed that, and he had been so shocked that he had stabbed his tongue with the sharp prongs. We had laughed together for a good ten minutes, and then I had scarfed down about eight additional pieces of cake and fell into a sugar coma.

"Okay, I'll go," I huffed, rolling my eyes.

"Are you just saying that because my cooking is that good?" Eric asked softly while cutting me a slice of heaven.

"Partly. And that's all you're gonna get out of me, so just accept it," I answered. Of course, I had decided to tag along to babysit with him before I even came home, but he didn't need to know that. Just like he didn't need to know that I stole a whistle from the gym or already laid out my coaching outfit.

After I inhaled the entire cake and cleared the table, Eric barricaded himself in the library to work on drills and exercises for tomorrow's practice while I showered and cleaned off. Later, we both watched the latest episode of _FlashForward_, Eric's newest obsession (and secretly mine as well). Eric muted all of the commercial breaks to tell me everything about Sookie that he had excluded to mention before. Even when I got up for a late-night snack he came and followed me into the kitchen.

When he got to the part where she unknowingly told him she wanted to go all cavewoman on his sculpted ass, I chuckled. When he got to the part where he surprised her with milkshakes and dairy kisses on Monday night, I raised my eyebrow at his chick-flick move. When he got to the part where she talked dirty (or as dirty as an eighteen-year-old Southern belle can talk) I choked on the cherry tomato I had just popped in my mouth and had to hold onto the refrigerator so I didn't fall down while laughing. I had to meet this girl.

After we said our goodnights and I made sure Eric was really sleeping, I snuck off to the nearby grocery store and stuffed my eco-friendly cloth shopping bag with whipped cream, ice packs, and a mega box of condoms. Once I (very quietly) came back home, I lined the fridge with whipped cream, placed the ice packs on the coffee table, and slipped the box of condoms under Eric's sleeping arms. When I woke up the next morning, I immediately saw that Eric had came in my room sometime while I was sleeping and placed a "Hi, My Name Is…" sticker on the shirt I was planning on wearing to practice; he had filled it in with "Pammikins," his nickname for me that I absolutely detested.

* * *

"Okay girls, listen up. As most of you have already realized, this is Pamela Ravenscroft. If you don't know who she is, go home. Joke. She's my best friend and I wanted her to come to practice today to give you some pointers, and also for you to ask any questions you have about playing soccer in college or professionally or being a female soccer player or anything like that. But the Q&A session comes after soccer practice. And unlike yesterday, you're probably going to be able to talk and walk after I'm all done. Today's practice will be soccer-heavy: I'm thinking scrimmages, drills, 1 v. 1s, dribbling, passing, shooting. Yesterday you guys showed me that you had the legs, and today you're going to show me that you have the feet," Eric said, pacing in front of the seated girls. He looked at me, to see if I wanted to say anything, but I shrugged and shook my head.

"Since you've already stretched, we're going to start with an 8 v. 8 soccer scrimmage. My team has Sookie, Halleigh, Ginger, Dawn, Maudette, Felicia, Thalia, Luna, and Maria-Star. Everyone else, you're on Pam's team, and you have to wear the navy side of the pinnies. All right, kick off will be in five minutes," Eric said, herding his team over to the far side of the field. As he walked away from me, he turned around and winked. I fucking hated him for just leaving me alone with ten teenage strangers without warning or advice.

"This is what we're going to do. Stand to my left if you play offense, stand to my right if you play midfield, and stand in front of me if you play defense. Now," I barked, figuring that now simply wasn't the time for niceties. I was pissed at Eric for shoving me into the gauntlet and wanted to make him pay. Of course my team would win.

The girls obediently did as they were told. I then arranged a starting lineup and sent them on the field. Eric did the same, and soon the girls were scrimmaging. There was no doubt in my mind that Sookie was the best player on the field; hell, she was pretty damn good for a high school player and I could just tell she would do well if she played college ball. She scored a hat trick, but I was even more amazed to see that Eric simply held his hands out for celebratory high-fives whenever she scored, and she would just oblige and move on down the sideline. I couldn't detect any preferential treatment or sexual tension or anything, and I knew that they were romantically involved. I was impressed with the both of them.

After the scrimmage (which I only lost by one), Eric set up other drills and had me supervise and coach. Once again, Sookie excelled at everything, but the rest of the team played brilliantly as well – especially the bubbly Amelia. Eric had a pretty talented team, and I knew that they would play well in the game on Friday – which I now planned on attending now that I knew that the girls were capable of whooping Edgington's team. I felt proud just watching them, and I wasn't even their coach. Now I knew why Eric was so excited about his new job – and his new life.

After Eric had run through every drill or exercise he could think of – I could sympathize with the haggard looks stamped on the girls' faces, because most of the drills were ones I had loathed during my collegiate days – he arranged a little powwow "interrogate the professional soccer player" session. Most of the girls had valid questions, except for a bottle blond who asked if I had met David Beckham; I had snorted before answering that yes, he had complimented me on my shoes and my football player skills, but although he was very attractive in person, the man could not speak without mumbling or losing his train of thought. Of course, Eric huffed when I answered the question, so I added that he had also been there when I had met David Beckham at the Olympics and the football player had told Eric that he was sorry that they weren't teammates. He nodded his approval (which of course I interpreted as the immense gratitude that he felt towards me) at me afterwards. I waited for Sookie to ask a question but she never raised her hand; I didn't know if that was because she was scared of me or couldn't think of anything to say, but I didn't think much about it.

After Eric stepped in with a little pep-talk about how tomorrow would be a rest day because the big game was on Friday, the girls made their way back to the soccer bags, except Sookie. No one seemed to give her a second glance, however, as they walked away and she stayed put. Did that mean they were used to her 1 v. 1 private sessions with Eric? I made a mental note to bring it up with him later.

I tried not to listen in to their conversation (okay, so I didn't try that hard) but it didn't matter because she said something about she had learned a lot of new things today and she was glad that she had such a great teacher. Eric just laughed and said that he didn't mind teaching new things to a perfect student and would be available for extra-help sessions every day right after school. Well, that went over my perfectly-highlighted blonde head. Sookie's eyes widened and she replied that that could be arranged, although on Tuesdays and Thursdays she could have private tutoring at her house, since there wouldn't be anyone at home. Now it was time for Eric's eyes to widen, and while smiling a crocodile smile he asked her if she really meant it. She said she did, and that if he had any questions he should call her after 10 pm tonight. He agreed, and stuck out his hand for her to shake. Their shaking hands looked like a normal, coach-player thing to do – on the surface. Eric caressed her hand like it was another part of her body, and Sookie blushed redder than Eric's Corvette. When they finally let go of each other, Sookie started walking back to the rest of the girls with a newfound swing in her hips; even though I knew Eric would be pissed that I was thinking this, that girl had an ass that could inspire a whole album worth of rap songs.

While the team was taking off their soccer equipment and walking to the parking lot, I helped Eric pick up some cones. Once we were out of earshot, I hissed, "What as that all about? Do you guys have a fucking secret code already? Let me guess, you're 007 and she's Pussy Galore?"

"Hah, I knew you were listening in. I'm surprised you waited this long to ask. As you witnessed when you interrupted me and Sookie before practice, we hang out together before everyone shows up for practice. Today I helped her study for a history test she has tomorrow. I asked her if she'd come early to practice every day to spend time with me, and she said she would, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays we could go over to her house beforehand. Happy?"

"Deliriously. Are you going to bake cookies and swap embarrassing stories then?"

"Yeah, and we're going to do it all naked. Honestly Pam, not everyone is as filthy as you are. I'm not in this for the sex," he retorted as we approached the now empty parking lot.

"Obviously," I said, smirking when he snapped his head towards me and gave me one of his patented Eric Northman Glares. He didn't even need to say anything; his look was already making me feel a teensy bit guilty about my last statement. "I'm glad I came, Eric. I'm glad I met her," I hastily added.

His features softened slightly and he nodded before picking up his coaching bag. As he walked to his car, he said, "I am too."

"So why do you have to call her after 10? Is that after lights-out for her?" I asked as nice, angel-on-the-shoulder Pam slinked back into the very small hole in my heart that she came from.

"No, dipshit, it's when her waitressing shift is over. She's a modern woman earning her own money through hard labor, not through posing for frilly sports bra ads," he sneered.

"Dipshit? Wow, Eric, you totally sound like you're not dating a little Rugrat," I responded, too pissed off about the below-the-belt mark about my frilly sports bra ads to come up with a worthy comeback. I figured I'd make him pay for it later.

"Wow, Pam, you totally sound like you're not dating anyone," he snapped back, shoving his bag in the backseat of his car and opening the driver's door. "It's your turn to make dinner tonight."

"I'm thinking sushi," I quipped, knowing Eric's irrational hatred of the food.

He lowered down his window and replied, "That sounds great, but I'd watch your cashmere tan plaid scarves or weird bags with the spermy-looking paisleys on them. They might get ruined somehow." Asshole. Like he didn't know I'd probably kick him out if he touched my Burberry or Vera Bradley. He peeled out of the parking lot before I could get the last word, which angered me more than his implied threat of doing bodily harm to my prized accessories.

As I drove back home, I reflected on what had happened in the past three hours. Despite my sibling rivalry and bickering with Eric, I felt surprisingly comforted by the fact that Sookie seemed like a normal girl; she was pretty damn loveable, like a puppy or a Barbie doll – except, of course, she had the curves of a '50s pinup and could probably aim a powerful kick at anyone who pissed her off. _'She's just what Eric needs – someone to tell him off when he's being an ass and someone who can also appreciate him and his very toned ass'_ I thought, not even noticing the odd, warm fuzzy sensation I felt when thinking about her and Eric being together.

Even though I was tempted to stop and pick up some sashimi, I made chicken parmesan for dinner and talked with Eric about today's practice. He was so excited, I didn't even mind helping him think of plays and the lineup he could use on Friday. Around ten he excused himself into the office to talk to Sookie, and I holed myself into my room, feeling very pleased that I didn't try and listen in on their conversation by going into the kitchen for a water bottle or walking into the office for a book.

Of course, I deeply regretted this at 2 am when Eric sleep-screamed, "Right there, Sookie, that's it, lover, you're the best.'

* * *

**A/N: So, thus ends the PPOV. I had a lot of fun writing Pam. I wish I could be that witty in real life; the perfect comeback or response always comes to me like three weeks after the initial conversation. *sigh***

**Also, my beta picked up on an Alexander Skarsgard reference – did you? Let me know, anyone who catches it can have a sneak preview of the next chapter! (I'm not a crazy AS stalker, I swear! I know this is like the 8****th**** time I mentioned him, but still!)**

**The Poppin' Eric's Cherry contest is still going on, so you should hop over to the website and check the stories out – and write one, if you're a virgin/almost-virgin. Also, you can go to my profile and check out the entry I wrote, called "Fill My Pot" – I'm a little nervous because it only has 13 reviews. **

**Here's the Poppin' Eric's Cherry link: ****http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Poppin_Erics_Cherry_One-Shot_Contest/75492/**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hi, everyone! I'll explain more on the bottom, but I just wanted to say (write?) that I'm sorry it's been a while.

These characters are not mine, even though I wrote them down on my Christmas list. They belong to Charlaine Harris.

Thanks to my beta, chiisai-kitty, for helping me figure out what I wanted to say and always showing me the difference between "lay" and "lie." And another big thank you to morecks87 for checking in on me and encouraging my Alexander Skarsgard fascination.

Now, on with the show!

_Of course, I deeply regretted this at 2 am when Eric sleep-screamed, "Right there, Sookie, that's it, lover, you're the best.'_

* * *

**EPOV:**

I was in the shower, working offyet another piece of the morning wood I had experienced ever since I met Sookie. Closing my eyes in frustration, I inhaled the lemon verbena body wash I had picked up at the local drugstore; I had told the prying cougar cashier it was for my girlfriend…which it was, since it reminded me of Sookie. The sharp, comforting scent of the foaming yellow bubbles caused me to grow even harder, and I moved my hand Down South. While making the journey, it was grabbed by a smaller, softer hand that intertwined itself with my fingers. I popped open my eyes, wondering if I was getting so worked up that I truly was dancing with myself, to say the least, when I saw something that made me feel like I pressed my face to a functioning vacuum. Sookie was kneeling down in front of me, as naked and fully perfect as I'd always pictured her as, with her blue cotton-candy colored eyes moving up all my body before she reached my face and winked. Her hair, much darker in the dripping wet shower, was plastered to her bountiful breasts, but I could still see her peaked nipples.

"I'd like to do that," she murmured, taking my hand and, still covering it, slowly dragging it down to stroke my length. The farther down we went, the tighter she squeezed; the sensations that her little act elicited excited me even more and I moaned. We danced back up again, even more tightly than before, but then she released my hand so that when she next stroked me the only thing she was touching was my dick. She pumped up and down at a torturously slow rate, tightening when she reached my base and gently relaxing while moving down to the head.

"Oh, fuck, Sookie," I gasped. She used her thumb to wipe around the pearly white pre-cum and ducked down to hesitatingly wrap her pillow-puffy lips around my cock. I loudly hissed my approval, and she smiled; the movement of her lips felt _amazing_ on me and I moaned, "Smile for me, Sookie, do it again." But she did even better, giggling so that the vibrations me and my dick were experiencing were unlike anything felt before. I dug my fingers in her hair, trying to show her how good of a job she was doing – especially for someone who said she didn't have a whole lot of experience with boys or their boy parts.

Slowly, she slid me even further in her mouth, to the point where I could feel her relaxing her jaw and throat muscles. Her tongue moved all over me and I could feel her hands cradling my balls. "Right there, Sookie, that's it, lover, you're the best," I screamed. She moaned appreciatively, and I felt the familiar clenching sensation. I tried to warn her by bellowing, "I think –" but at that moment she looked up at me expectantly and winked like the fucking shower dominatrix that she was. That sent me over and I came, fingers pulling at the roots at her dampened hair and eyes probably rolling to the back of my head because of the heavy orgasm Sookie just gifted me. She waited until my release was over before swallowing and turning around to catch some shower water in her mouth.

After a couple seconds, she swiveled back to look at me and smirked, "Aren't you glad I helped you?"

I was about to answer when a pillow hit me in the face. _What the fuck_? Pillows belong in beds, not showers. And who dared to interrupt my sexy shower with Sookie? As I was trying to make sense of it all, I was hit with another pillow. I looked to where Sookie was and saw that she had disappeared. Was Sookie chucking pillows at me?

"ERIC WAKE UP" Pam screamed at me, essentially fulfilling her demand. I blinked my eyes a couple times and stretched my arms out to yawn. I was rewarded with a hard pillow to my stomach. I squinted and saw Pam standing over me with a pillow in each hand and her "I am Woman, Hear Me Snore!" sleeping mask pushed up to her forehead to reveal her very angry, very bloodshot eyes.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Pam growled, "I'd ask if you had any dreams, but I already know you did based on what you were just sleep-talking about. Unless, of course, you have sleep-Tourettes. Do you have sleep-Tourettes, Eric?" She threw in a dramatic eye roll for extra emphasis. Her eyes managed to look pissed off even when she was moving them around, which was actually pretty impressive. If I wasn't so groggy and angry, I would have asked her how she managed to do it.

"Fuck, I was sleep talking again? You have got to be shitting me," I replied, wincing at what Pam might have heard.

"I'd like to do that," she purred, smirking as she saw me blanch. "Oh, smile for me, Eric, do it again."

"Fuck you."

"I should say the same to you. You obviously need to fuck something other than my Ethan Allen sofa to stop having sex dreams. And by 'something' I mean 'Sookie.'"

"Yeah, yeah," I retorted, still too sleepy to come up with a Pam-worthy comeback.

"And because it's two-fucking-thirty in the morning, I'm going back to bed. Next time I hear you moaning, talking, or even shifting before seven, the pillows are going down your throat, not at your face," she warned before flouncing off to her bedroom in a big huff and slamming the door. I laughed as I heard her say, "Oh, shit!" because she always told me off for slamming doors and she just did it.

"I _need _to find my own apartment," I mumbled to myself, tracing my stubble-lined jaw. My face felt kind of sore – Pam used her "decorative" pillows instead of her "sleep" pillows as ammo (and I had no idea why there even was such a thing as decorative pillows) and those fuckers were hard.

"Damn straight," Pam yelled from behind the door. Guess she really could hear everything.

I woke up about five hours later to an empty apartment and a hot-pink Post-it note that told me, in Pam's freakishly grandma-esque Victorian-era cursive, that there was fruit salad in the refrigerator. I stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge and found a bowl of fruit adorned with another sticky note – "Right there, Eric, that's it, lover, you're the best." I swore and immediately reached out to crumple the puny piece of paper. I threw it basketball-style at the sink and still felt pissed even though I made the shot. Standing in front of the still-open fridge, I ate without bothering with utensils or sitting down; instead of eating my fruit, I practically threw it down my throat.

After I finished, I took a shower, thanking myself that I hadn't told Pam where my dream was taking place, or else there would have been another pink Post-it note on the shower door. Of course, that got me thinking about the dream again, so I had to pay extra attention to my private-time area. Once that _big_ problem was taken care of, I reflected on my dream and how sad it was that I was dreaming of having to relieve myself in the shower, which was pretty fucking pathetic.

To cheer myself up, I thought back to what Sookie and I had talked about when I called her last night.

* * *

"_Hello?" Sookie chirped._

"_Hey, it's me," I said before realizing that we probably weren't close enough to be doing that._

"_Hey, Eric, you called," she said. _

"_Yeah, did you think I'd forget?" _

"_No, I'm just surprised, that's all. Tara always complains about how Eggs says he'll call but he never does. I figured you'd be the same way as all the other boys."_

"_No. I am a man. Eggs is a boy…I hope," I joked._

_Sookie laughed, "Yeah, in this case he is a boy, not a breakfast food or prenatal chicken…although when hammered he often refers to himself in third-person as 'The Incredible, Edible Eggs,' and I'm not kidding." _

"_Interesting. How was work?"_

"_Eh, work was work. It was a Wednesday, so the tips weren't that great. How was everything you did after soccer practice?"_

"_Fine, I guess. Drove home…ate dinner with Pam…came up with some soccer plays and whatnot." Small talk really wasn't my forte. _

"_Cool. So, do you want to hang out at my house before soccer practice tomorrow? It's Thursday, and Gran has book club from 1-3. Tara has debate club after school, and she usually brings her soccer stuff to school and changes in the locker room. We'd be all alone…"_

"_Yeah, I'd like to do that. Where do you live? Should I just go to your house, or pick you up at school?"_

"_Well, it might look suspicious if people see me getting in your car…so I'm thinking you should just aim to be at my house around two. I live across from the Bon Temps cemetery – off of Hummingbird Road. It's about 3 miles southeast from Merlotte's, like a 15 minute drive or so. Just drive past Merlotte's and it's the first right. Then, just drive until you see a big old white country farm house – voila, Chez Sookie. But, uh, follow the driveway around my house, so that you park in the back, just in case anyone stops by."_

"_Okay. And I'll text you if anything comes up, but I don't think I'll get lost – after all, this is Bon Temps!"_

"_Are you sure you're qualified to say that? After all, you've only been here for what, three days?" Sookie teased._

"_It helps if one is dating a local such as yourself," I replied. _

"_True that. Listen, Eric, I'm really tired and my feet hurt from running around for the past seven hours or whatever…and I kind of need to take a shower."_

"_No problem, I understand. See you tomorrow."_

"_Yep. Oh wait – I can't think of any way to tell Gran to unlock the door, which she usually does but with my luck, tomorrow would probably be the day she decides to finally lock it, so in case there's any trouble the spare key is molded in the silly putty under the bottom of the lawn chair on the front porch."_

"_Wow, that totally beats the old hiding spots of under the doormat or the flower pot. I'm impressed," I laughed. _

"_Well, I didn't come up with it. My older brother Jason did during a rare flash of genius," Sookie said. I couldn't tell if she was joking or being serious – we hadn't talked a lot about our families and I felt that because she lived with her Gran it wasn't a conversation we should have over the phone late at night. _

"_It's still impressive nonetheless. Goodnight, Sookie. I wish you well on your history test."_

"_I'll let you know how it goes…tomorrow when we're alone in my house," she said. I could hear her smile. "Goodnight, Eric."_

* * *

I toweled off and slipped into an old pair of jeans and a white undershirt that I usually wore as a regular shirt. Hey – it felt _and _looked good and, with the exception of Pam, no one ever complained. And Pam always made fun of my clothes – she thought I dressed like a slob, but it was okay because I thought she dressed like a stuffy soccer mom.

I turned on my laptop, and saw that Pam posted yet _another_ Post-it note on the spotless white surface of my MacBook: 'You should know this as my sports agent, but I have practice from 8-12. I'll be back around 2ish. In case I don't see you before your private tutoring sessions with your dream girl – MAKE GOOD CHOICES. With love and teasing, Pam.' Okay, I needed to find her secret stash of those sticky notes and burn them.

First, I had to check my mail. Just as Pam kind of predicted, there was an email from Mr. Rodriguez – saying that Gatorade would love to provide free beverages and they already sent twenty cases to the headquarters of Pam's charity organization and would she require more? Woah, I was impressed at the amount of butt-kissing the guy had managed to squeeze into forty words, but I guess that's why he had a cubicle. For whatever reasons, he didn't write to bite my head off for Pam's T-Rex comment (hah, one point for Northman) and I was not questioning it at all. I replied back asking how many bottles were in a case, and also whether Gatorade had any apparel they'd like to put in a raffle basket. Pam was going to be so pumped when I told her about the free stuff we'd just received.

I wrote other emails to the various organizations and contracts Pam was involved with, and also looked over all of our banking accounts and finances. I looked up available apartments for sale, and called the real estate agent to set up a preliminary appointment with her on Monday.

My stomach grumbled loudly, and I saw that it was 1:09. _Shit_ – I needed to start my drive over to Bon Temps. I hurriedly turned my computer off, scarfed down some leftover chicken parm, and grabbed my soccer bag before heading out the door.

As I drove to Sookie's I tried to think of what would happen – which proved to be difficult, seeing as I actually had no idea what was actually going to happen. Home alone with Sookie…does that mean getting frisky in her bedroom, or finding out more about her family? The last time I was in a teenage girl's room was…before I started playing professionally in Sweden, I guess. I had spent so much time training and working out back then to achieve my goal of playing in professional soccer matches that girls really weren't important – _then_. My collegiate days were much less pure, however. Not that now was the best time to tell her about that.

When I arrived at what I seriously hoped was Sookie's house, no one was there. I felt sketchy about going inside when I barely even knew Sookie – I hadn't even took her out on an official date, but she wanted me to go inside her house when no one was there? I wouldn't call myself the king of dating, but even I knew that was fucked up, so I just read the newspaper on her back porch and checked my watch a thousand times. Around 2:15 I heard a car in the driveway, and a couple seconds later Sookie's beat-up yellow Datsun came into view. Jesus, that car was probably older than she was. _Guess she likes older things. Fuck, stop that man, once you start thinking like that it's all over. _

She parked her car next to mine and slowly exited the car. The first thing that I saw were her tan, bare legs and silver sandals reaching for the ground; it looked like calf porn, it was so hot. Once she fully emerged from the car and shut the door, I could see that she was wearing a fitted yellow and white dotted mini skirt and a plain white tee shirt; her hair was straightened and pulled back with a plain white headband, and she wore a simple silver locket necklace. She looked like a very preppy, very attractive J. Crew model.

"Hiya Eric," she called out as she sauntered over to me. I instantly stood up to greet her, and opened my arms for a hug. She bounced up the stairs and ran into my arms, burying her face in my chest. She moved us around so that I was standing on the second-highest step on the stoop and she was standing on the porch. I was confused until I realized that we finally were eye-to-eye despite our height differences; once she saw that I understood her maneuvering, she giggled and leaned in for a kiss, taking the hands that she threw around my neck and placing them on my cheeks. I responded by keeping my hands around the small of her back, right before her "booty bump" as Pam liked to say, and gently pulling her closer to me. She gently nipped my bottom lip, and I ran my tongue on her upper lip before we met somewhere in the middle. After some time she pulled away, but didn't move to take herself out of my grasp.

"Stackhouse, you could have waited for me to say 'hi' back," I joked.

"Oh, Northman, I think you did say 'hi' back," she retorted, softly stroking my cheekbone with her thumb.

"Nicely played."

"Thanks. Now, unless you plan on admiring my back porch all day, let's go inside."

"But Stackhouse, I do plan on admiring your back porch all day," I innocently responded, moving my hands down to her "back porch" and smirking when she thumped me in the chest and squirmed out of my hold. "Oh come on, you practically walked right into that!" I protested.

"You wish you walked right into that, Northman," she replied, before pausing and laughing. I arched an eyebrow and she explained, "Maybe I should let you do the whole sexual innuendo thing. You're better at it, anyways."

I laughed with her then, amazed that she had no problem laughing at herself and pointing out her weaknesses.

"Practice makes perfect, Stackhouse," I said as she opened the door and invited me inside.

"If that's supposed to be another euphemism, I don't understand it and I refuse to either answer or acknowledge it. Okay now, this right here is the kitchen," she said, gesturing to the room we were standing in. Although the kitchen was a little small and cramped, it felt homey and friendly, as did the rest of her house. It looked like the kind of house a proper Southern belle like Sookie would live in, and I could tell she was proud of her abode by the way she described its history and the various renovations and inhabitants it took throughout the past two-hundred years or so.

"So this is kind of like your Tara, huh?" I asked, curious to see her reaction to my reference to what Pam called the ultimate Southern Belle movie. She had actually forced me to watch that fifty-something-hour long film with her the first night I moved into the Deep South after her beloved Dear Abby columnist recommended _Gone With The Wind _as the best breakup cure, and I secretly liked it. _Secretly_. Of course, I just told Pam that I thought that the Scarlett chick was hot – which she was. But more importantly, I wanted to test out my Sookie-Southern belle theory, and something told me that any Southern belle worth her sweet tea would be able to recognize a _Gone With The Wind _reference when she saw one – and become extremely animated about it.

"_Shut up!_ You know what _Gone With The Wind_ is?" Sookie squealed, clapping her hands together. _Whoa, looks like she's a true Southern belle all right_.

I explained that Pam forced me to watch it, and she simply nodded her head. However, as she turned to lead me upstairs, I saw her trying to control her smile which, of course, led to me trying to control _my_ smile.

She gestured to where Tara's room was, but didn't move to open it and neither did I, obviously. The same thing happened with her Gran's room. By that point, I was a little fearful that she might refuse me entry into her bedroom, but that vanished when she held the door open for me and let me in.

I always thought that you can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their room, and my theory perfectly applied to hers. Her room had sky-blue walls, and even hand-painted miniature clouds near the ceiling. She had white bed sheets, and a matching dresser and book shelf that had its books organized by color; it looked like she was hiding a rainbow on her shelves. There was a large cork board that was spiked with pictures, magazine articles, and little notes; I even saw a couple cut outs of Pam hidden on the office desk that was placed underneath the board, like she used to have them hanging on the board and took them down when she knew I might be coming in here and would see my best friend hanging on the board. Her white curtains next to the blue walls made me feel like I was looking up at the sky, and the effect was very pleasing and relaxing.

She walked over to her bed and sat down, but I was too busy taking in her room to notice. I could see an acoustic guitar propped up in the corner, as well as a closet practically frothing at the mouth with clothes. Various perfumes and body lotions were scattered on her bureau, mixed in with picture frames containing smiling Sookies of different ages – toddler Sookie picking out pumpkins with two jean-clad adults; an elementary-school age with no front teeth Sookie with her arm around a grinning blonde boy; soccer uniform-clad teenaged Sookie posing with Amelia and Tara; a gorgeous, grown-up Sookie with a corsage around her wrist and a purple prom dress hugging an oldish lady. Her whole life was on that bureau.

What I liked most about her room was the sight of a handful of baseball caps, cowgirl hats, headbands, and other accessories hanging from the many trophies on top of her bookshelf. The medals that hung around the base of one of the biggest trophies had scarves hanging off the straps of the neckwear. The sight of it just screamed 'Sookie' to me – it perfectly encompassed who she was and what she was like, and it made me like here even more.

"What?" Sookie asked, as I realized that she probably was waiting for me to join her on the bed and I instead chose to awkwardly hover near the doorway like a complete stranger.

"Nothing. Your room is very 'you.'"

"Thanks, I hope."

"Don't worry, it was a compliment," I answered, striding across the room to sit next to her on the bed. She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I kissed the top of her head, briefly closing my eyes as I inhaled her lemon-fresh fragrance.

"Hm…I could get used to seeing you on my bed," Sookie purred. After my eyeballs nearly exploded from widening them so much, I sucked in a deep breath of air and accidentally choked on Sookie's boldness. _Smooth_.

She laughed at my reaction and said, "You were right, Eric, I guess practice does make perfect."

"Except that wasn't sexual innuendo. That was just a sexual statement," I responded, still trying to control my reaction. I mean, I had had more forward statements said to me by woman wearing fewer clothing and more makeup than Sookie had on right now. Why did I have so much trouble with Sookie's little statement that was PG compared to the others I had heard?

"But it's not like you're complaining," she said, gently pushing me on my back and climbing up on me.

"Never," I replied, lifting my head up to kiss her smirk. She responded hungrily, not seeming at all like the sweet Sookie I had come to know and love. _Love? That's why you NEVER even think about the ultimate chick flick, let alone reference it_.

She broke away from our battle-of-the-tongues and gently nipped down the length of my neck. I moved my hands from Sookie's lower back down to the bottom of her thin shirt, tracing the intersection between her soft, tanned skin and her yellow skirt, forcing my fingers not to dip inside of her skirt in fear of scaring her off. I felt myself awaken and press up against her, and I swallowed her gasp. She stopped moving, stopped kissing, and popped her eyes open. I stilled too, freaking out that she was freaking out about my erection.

"Wha—" I sluggishly mumbled. She shushed me and rolled herself off the bed, hands fluttering to pull down her shirt as she jogged out the door. _What the fuck?_ I got up to follow her, and made it halfway down the hall before I heard a male voice addressing Sookie. I paused, wondering if I should go downstairs and introduce myself or stay holed up in my room. _Sookie said she just lives with Tara and her Gran…what is this man doing here?_ I was insanely curious, but I didn't want to go downstairs and fuck up everything I had with Sookie.

I ran back to her bedroom as silently as I could and quietly closed the door behind me. _Fuck, we are so fucking fucked. _I paced around her room with my hands behind my head, until I looked out the window and saw that the only cars parked around back were mine and Sookie's. _Whoever this guy was, he must have parked around front. Which means Sookie and I still might be safe. Which means I have to be extra quiet so we don't get caught. _

I lied back down on Sookie's bed and picked up the book that was placed on her nightstand – something about being dead until dark. But it had a picture of a woman's face, cut off at her eyes, with a red hot pout dripping blood; it looked so unlike something Sookie would on that I was instantly curious as to why she was reading it and what she was reading about.

To my embarrassment, I actually looked around before opening it – first off, it's not like anyone was in the room watching me, and secondly, it's just a book. It's not her journal or anything…but I did feel a little guilty while reading it.

Sookie was only about fifteen pages in, and I easily caught up with her. I smiled when I saw that the sparkly blue and white cardboard bookmark was actually the cut-out back of a toothpaste box. As I idly read about a telepathic Southern barmaid and these vampires that seemed to be freakishly obsessed with her, I almost forgot the reason why I was in Sookie's room all alone reading a supernatural love story. Almost.

* * *

**SPOV:**

Everything with Eric was going exactly as I had hoped – I was telling and showing him things about me and we were getting to know each other. Of course, it also helped that we were getting to know each other right on my bed – until I heard the roar of Jason's truck (he's too stubborn to replace his old muffler). At first I thought it was a growl coming from Eric and I got extremely aroused by it, but then I recognized as something signaling Jason's arrival. Frightened that he might barge in and discover me and Eric, I sprinted from my comfy spot on Eric without a second thought.

'_Why is Jason here? He NEVER stops by, unless it's for Sunday brunch. I specifically made sure Gran and Tara would be out of the house, so of course now would be the time for Jason to act like the prodigal son and just drop in.' _I thought as I raced down the stairs two at a time.

I was greeted with the sight of Jason's boxer-clad ass sticking out in front of the refrigerator. I screamed and Jason jumped to face me and hit his head on the open fridge door.

"AAAAH! Jason! What the hell?"

"FUCK Sookie, what are you doing here?"

"I LIVE here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, I just woke up and wanted my hangover cure of eggs and bacon, except I didn't have any eggs and I thought I'd drive over here and just take some. They're just eggs, you know."

"Okay, let me expand: what are you doing here _in your underwear_?"

"Like I said, I just woke up. And I needed those eggs fast. You probably don't know this, but when you're hung over your head hurts so much that it sounds like people are yelling at you. So when you actually are yelling at me, I feel like my head is going to explode."

I sighed, realizing I wouldn't get anything out of Jason. "Fine. Take the eggs. I'm not mad that you stopped by; I'm just mad that you stopped by without calling first…and without having the decency to come clothed. I mean seriously, Jason, you drove the, what, six miles to here in your undies?"

"Yep, and some hot cougar momma I was stuck next to at a red light gave me her phone number. I think I'm gonna drive around in my boxers more often. Anyways, thanks for the eggs. See ya later," he responded, moving close like he was going to slap me on the back. I put my hands up to warn him not to come any closer without clothes. He chuckled his way into the front hall.

"Fucking IDIOT," I shouted after he slammed the door exactly like Gran has told him not to do about a million and a half times.

I heard some shuffling upstairs – _crap, I completely forgot about Eric…which is really hard to do, considering_…_he's Eric._

I ran back up the stairs and smack into a crouching Eric holding my old softball bat from middle school.

"Oomf!" I grunted as I began to fall backwards. I heard a loud 'clank' as Eric swiftly dropped the aluminum bat and caught me as my knees began to buckle.

"Sorry," I gasped.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to come down sooner. I heard you scream earlier, which is when I grabbed the bat from your closet – which was open, by the way, I wasn't just digging through your stuff – but I didn't know if it would be...weird if your soccer coach came down the stairs wielding a non-soccer-related piece of athletic equipment," he tried to explain.

"Yeah, that would be weird. And sorry about the interruption. That was my brother, Jason, who stopped by…completely unannounced," I explained.

"Aah, Jason the genius?" Eric asked while setting me upright. I took his hand and led him back to my bedroom as I laughed, "I was actually being sarcastic when I said that. I love him, but he's a handful of trouble. My Gran always says that everyone is entitled to be stupid, but some abuse the privilege, like Jason."

"Tell me more," Eric said, motioning for me to sit on the bed first. Instead, I lay down on the far side of the bed, resting my head on the pillow, and Eric followed suit next to me.

"Well, he was the star quarterback for the football team, and he led them to States his senior year. He got a scholarship to play for Louisiana State University, but he busted his knee his sophomore year and lost his scholarship, so now he's the foreman of the local construction crew or whatever. He's a good guy, but he's always up for having a good time…and his idea of a good time involves lots of beer and women," I said, pleased that Eric was so interested in learning about me.

"Good to know – although I wouldn't know exactly how it feels to have a brother. I'm an only child," Eric offered.

"Really? What's that like?"

"I don't know – when I was younger, soccer took up a lot of my time, as well as my parents'. My dad quit his job to become my manager when I turned pro. I think if there was a little baby Northman, he or she would be overlooked, so in that case I'm glad that I'm the only child. But, it also would have been nice to always have someone to talk to or hang out with."

"What about Pam? She's kind of like your sister from another mister, isn't she?"

He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'll have to remember to relay the saying to Pam, she'd get a laugh out of it. But yeah, we're really close – we don't have any family, so we're kind of our own family. A family that's willing to grow," he said, giving me a serious look so it'd be obvious that if there would be any addition to the Northman-Ravenscroft family it'd be decidedly Stackhouse-shaped. I nodded weakly, not really knowing how to respond to that.

"Oh, before I forget, Pam's hosting this 3 v. 3 soccer charity event on Sunday, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with me," he asked, giving me the beautiful benefit of the Northman doggy eyes. Not like he needed to use them on me – I would have accompanied him to Antarctica if it meant being near him.

"Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun and I don't think I'll have too much homework to do. And I have off Sunday – I took off Saturday night, for our date you know. Unless you meant that our date was the tournament thingy."

"Of course not. I'm still planning on taking you out Saturday night, but I would like for you to join me then. And Stackhouse?"

"Yes, Northman?"

"When you're on a date with me, you'll know it's a date."

"Ooh, getting cocky, I see!"

"Not yet, but it can be arranged," he slyly replied, turning on his side so I'd have the full view of the trademark Eric Northman eyebrow wiggle.

"Stop that! You know what I meant," I giggled, also turning on my side to face him. I cupped his face before smoothing his eyebrows with my thumb; he needed to stop looking so gleeful about his little – but of course being Eric Northman he'd argue that it was big – remark. He turned his face to kiss the inside of my wrist. The gesture was so intimate, so romantic, that I had to control myself from aww-ing.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Eric and I jumped as his cell phone began to ring from his pocket – I almost hit him in the face with the hand he had just been snuggled up to. He sheepishly muttered that he had set an alarm so we wouldn't be late to practice. I laughed and got up to walk over to my closet and picked out my soccer clothes. Eric remained lying on my bed, lazily watching me with hooded eyes as I walked into the hallway bathroom to change. When I walked back into the room in just my sports bra and shorts (forward, I know, but I realized that the shirt I had grabbed was an old Hooters shirt of Jason's that had shrunk in the wash for him, and I'd rather walk in a little underdressed than hear any of the comments I knew Eric would make of the shirt), Eric was sitting on the edge of the bed, whose sheets were noticeably smoothed out. I didn't know what I was happier about: Eric sitting on my bed, or Eric making my bed.

"Ready to go?" Eric asked, standing up as soon as he saw me; his face looked hungry and awed for a brief second before he wiped it clean.

"Yep. Nope. Lemme find a hair band to put my hair up," I answered, frantically scanning my bureau for one of my trusty hair bands. Once I found one, I stood in front of the mirror and quickly bent over so I could gather my hair into a high pony. As I straightened and was securing my hair in place, I felt Eric's hands grasp my bare waist and his mouth left hot kisses on my neck – I gasped. Taking care not to elbow him in the eye, I put the finishing touches on my ponytail masterpiece.

"You have such beautiful hair, Sookie," he murmured.

"Thanks. But you know what?"

"What?" Eric asked, still keeping his hands around my waist as he moved so that he was standing to my right.

"Our hair's the same color," I said, eyeing us side by side in the mirror. We were a pretty photogenic couple, one that you'd see on some postcard for Sweden. Maybe I should give IKEA a call…

"Sure is, girlfriend," Eric grinned at me. "But are you blond all the way down?" His eyebrows were wiggling like they were trying to run off his gorgeous face.

I snorted, instantly reminded me of my friend, Lafayette – he liked to say he was "Gay Spice," if you know what I mean – his words, not mine. Except when Lafayette would say stuff like that, he'd be joking around…but I could tell Eric was kind of serious. And I was kind of getting all flustered, even though I know Gran would have blanched if she ever heard that comment, even if it was just in a movie.

"Don't you wish you knew?" I teased back.

"Yes," he said simply. Oh. Uh…

"Well, you'll just have to wonder."

"I am," he said, "blond everywhere."

"I could tell as much by your chest hair from the other day." And the little happy trail I saw that dipped down his perfect abs and into the "V" section that made me want to surgically attach myself to his body. But he didn't need to hear that.

He raised my arm to check my armpit, and I squealed, "ERIC! Stop that, I'm ticklish!"

He obliged, goofily saying, "You silly women, shaving your body hair," in a mock-exasperated voice.

I opened my mouth to say something else on the topic, suddenly realized that it would lead to disaster, and said instead, "We need to go." I marched over to my drawer that held all my soccer jerseys and pulled out a plain white tee shirt – I wanted to match Eric.

"It almost looks like you are wearing my shirt," he said silkily. "I like that."

"I wonder how much you'll like that when I really am wearing your shirt," I replied, smirking when he choked again. "I do believe you've created a monster, Northman." He recovered by laughing heartily.

He followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I grabbed the aluminum water bottle I had filled up that morning. "Do you want anything? I'm sorry I forgot to ask earlier."

He grinned, "You should get your Southern Belle license revoked for that, Stackhouse. Luckily, I'm fine, thank you. I actually have my own water bottle in the car. But we really gotta get going." He impatiently gestured to the door. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he just smirked his way down the stairs

"See you soon," I sang as he kissed me goodbye and slid into his car. I pretended to kick the front bumper, and he scowled at me through the windshield and beeped his horn. He then blew a kiss and pulled out of the driveway, and I followed in my car behind him.

I was reminded of the first time I met him, when he followed me to Merlotte's and danced in the driver's seat. Unfortunately, all of the lights were green the entire ride to the fields, so I couldn't dance for him. Nevertheless, I still felt a secret little thrill following him, and I have no idea why.

As we turned onto the street that the fields were located on, Eric suddenly sped up. After a couple seconds, I realized he was doing it to look less suspicious, so I slowed down, marveling at how the man literally thought of _everything_.

By the time I parked my car and walked over to the group of girls, Eric was on the other side of the field setting up cones. Everyone said hi to me, and thankfully no one seemed perturbed that Eric arrived a little later to the fields than on previous days, or that I arrived shortly after him grinning like a crazy hyena.

Practice started without a hitch, and Eric and I smoothly transitioned from boyfriend-girlfriend to coach-player. We didn't do any running drills today, and I know I wasn't the only one excited by that, but to make up for it Eric crammed as many soccer drills and games as possible into our practice. He was much more vocal today, and I could tell he was thinking about tomorrow's game. Heck, we all were.

After what seemed like the world's longest soccer practice, Eric blew his whistle and signaled for us to jog over to where he was. He motioned for us to sit down, which we did with a long group sigh – the hard, slightly wet ground felt as comfortable as my bed.

"Alright, girls," he began, "you should know where I'm going with this. Tomorrow isn't just any old Friday – it's _the _Friday, the biggest Friday of our season. This is where we establish ourselves as the _new_ Bon Temps girls varsity soccer team. This is where we _show_ people, 'Yeah, we have a new coach and yeah, we have a new game plan, but that only made us stronger.' We only have ninety minutes to show that, so we have to make every minute count."

He broke off when we all screamed our appreciation. He smiled broadly, momentarily erasing the seriousness that had invaded his face during his speech.

"That being said, I'm going to be bloodthirsty tomorrow, and I want you guys to be too. I'm not saying you should foul every player on the field – I want us to be better than that. We're going to hurt them by playing _smart, solid soccer._ We're going to make them cry when we pass and dribble and shoot. We're going to make them scream out in pain when we score goals or get breakaways," he continued, his eyes glowing noticeably in the dimming light.

"You know I want this. You know why I want this. But I can't play. I need you guys to be my legs and feet. I need you guys to represent me, to represent this town – hell, to represent 'the good guys.' If I know Russell, they're going to play dirty and they're going to play rough, and if I know the human race, then you guys are going to want to sink to their level and play their game. But you're better than that. We're better than that. And tomorrow night, in front of your family and your friends and your neighbors and your enemies, we're going to show everyone that. We're going to show everyone who we are and why they should care."

We cheered again – Eric's speech was better than any one Bill ever gave, or any one I had ever had or heard. He knew how to motivate us.

After a couple long seconds, Eric waved his hands and continued, "I think if you play like you've been playing in practice all week, tomorrow's going to be a good match. We're going to have to fight for it. That being said, I want everyone to go home and make some pasta and eat your carbs. I want you guys to be drinking lots of water and resting – yes?"

Amelia had stuck her hand up while Eric was talking, and he bewilderingly called on her, not knowing what else to do. After some girls giggled at Amelia's brazenness, she said, "You see, Eric, when I play soccer I really use my head in addition to my legs and feet. So if you want me to rest my legs tonight, than I should be resting my head too. That being said, I'm going to need to be doing a lot of resting tonight, so could you please write me a note excusing me from my math test tomorrow?"

Eric threw his head back and roared, and the rest of the team, myself included, laughed as well – Amelia too, that big class (although I guess in this case the correct term would be 'team') clown.

"Sorry Amelia, no can do. Although I would suggest not using up any brainpower to come up with any cheeky statements like that one," Eric joked, sending everyone into a laughing frenzy once again.

"Touché," Amelia conceded, "but anyways, I don't know if anyone told you, but we always have team dinners the night before a soccer game, and there's one tonight at my house. Would you like to come with us? There will be Cesar salad and bread sticks and lots and lots of pasta, and I know the team would really appreciate you coming." The rest of the girls nodded, as did I.

"I would love to, Amelia. You're right, no one ever told me about these team dinners," Eric said, briefly glancing at me before continuing, "I would be honored to attend. And that food sounds delicious, so why don't I finish my speech after we all have some good food in our bellies?"

Everyone else agreed, and they walked off to where our bags were to take off their sweaty socks and shin guards. I pretended to tie my shoelace to wait for Eric, but he looked pointedly at the parking lot and went to pick up his cones, so I nodded and trailed behind the other girls.

After I put my stuff in the trunk of my car, which I had conveniently parked next to Eric's so that our driver's side doors were facing each other, and fiddled around with my iPod as I waited for him to finish packing up and walk over. Once he finally did, I unrolled my window and he leaned into my car and asked softly, "Are you going to be okay with this? Will it be too much? If it's awkward I don't have to go, you know. Is that why you didn't mention this to me earlier?"

"What? No, it'll be great. I just forgot about it, that's all. I want you to come. The team wants you to come. We always asked Bill if he wanted to join us, but he always made up some last-minute excuse."

"Like I said before, I'm not Bill."

"No sir, you are not. Wanna follow me to Amelia's?"

"Sure."

During the long drive to Amelia's mansion – seriously, it was the biggest house in Bon Temps – I was feeling a little apprehensive. If Eric lived with Pam, the country's biggest female soccer star, then he was probably living in a humungous apartment. And Amelia's house looked like it belonged on an episode of _Cribs_, whereas mine could probably be found on some dinky home makeover show.

Once we got there, I could see that not everyone was at Amelia's yet – Tara's car was absent, for example. Glad that Eric and I wouldn't look suspicious coming in together last – I could always say that I had to show him how to get there, which was true – I hopped out of my car and made my way over to Eric's. Although it was about 60º, I felt a little chilled, and I rubbed my arms as Eric got out of his car and saw me.

"Are you cold?"

"Nah, I'm fine. I'm sure it will be warmer inside."

"Don't be silly, Stackhouse. I have a sweatshirt in my car that you can wear," he said, turning around to grab something from his passenger side seat. He drew back, revealing a black Adidas track suit jacket with blue lines running down the sleeves. He unzipped it and held it out for me to wear, and I slipped my arms in the sleeve as gracefully as I could manage.

"I really appreciate the gesture, but don't you think it looks a little big on me? People might think it's yours."

"Or they could think it's Jason's."

"Right. Well then, thank you so much Eric. And it's not that I don't want to wear it, I just don't want anyone to find out it's yours."

"No problem. I think we'll be okay. Anyways, you'll probably eat so much that it will fit you perfectly."

"Hardy har har. I smell a challenge. C'mon, let's go inside so I can show you what's up."

"But seriously, you don't want to eat too much the night beforehand, because –"

"Eric, I've been playing soccer since I was four. I know what to do eat and do the night before a trying game. Seriously, what do you think I've been doing without you?"

"Geesh, note to self – don't ever question Stackhouse's eating habits."

"Sorry. I get cranky when I'm hungry. My stomach's grumbling so much I fear it's going to start swearing soon."

"It's no big deal, but we should really start walking in. Otherwise someone might think we're dating or something," he teased, tugging on the bottom of my – his – sweatshirt. I smiled and nodded, and together we began the long trek down Amelia's _long_ driveway.

Just as Amelia promised, there was enough food to turn her mansion into a five-star restaurant. Girls were scattered all over the house eating and talking and just having a good time in a way that only people who hang out with each other every day can have. Ignoring Eric's sniggers, I piled my plate with pasta and breadsticks; I gasped and poked him in the ribs when, to my surprise, he took _two_ plates and filled them with a little bit of everything that was offered. He just smirked down at me and whispered, "Weren't you paying attention to my speech? _I'm_ not the one playing tomorrow!"

"Don't kid yourself, Eric. You're going to be running up and down the sidelines screaming at the top of your lungs too. I'm just worried that you'll get stomach cramps from all of that strenuous activity."

"If that's the case, then you should make sure that you don't give me any cause to strain myself tomorrow."

Damn him, always coming up with a great retort. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I couldn't think of a reply, I made a face and walked out to Amelia's back porch, where I could see Amelia, Tara, and some other girls sitting. Eric's surprisingly light footsteps behind me told me that I currently had a gorgeous six-foot-four Viking former soccer player for a shadow.

I plopped down next to Tara on the steps, and Eric situated himself in a nearby lawn chair. And although I was a little miffed that he didn't sit down next to me, I realized that we were in a professional situation, and he came to eat dinner with the team, not me. Waah.

The food was great and the conversation was even better – someone asked Eric if he ever had any crazy fans or stalkers while he was playing soccer, and some of the stories he talked about were so preposterous it almost seemed like he was making them up: women throwing used panties at him and giving him hugs while wearing only the body paint of the colors of his team and asking him to bite their necks. Thankfully, Eric made it clear that he never took advantage of the women because he found their behavior pathetic – and after he said that I was able to breathe again, something I hadn't been able to do while learning about the soccer groupies that tried to score with my boyfriend (pun intended – I needed to take my mind off of the aforementioned soccer groupie info).

I don't know if it's because I was already really close to Eric as befitted our personal relationship, but I felt even more bonded to him after dinner. Throughout the meal and dessert and clean up – which he graciously assisted with even though Amelia insisted that he didn't need to – he looked comfortable and at ease, like he belonged with us. He joked and laughed and listened without ever showing that he might be bored or disinterested in what these teenage girls had to talk about. The guy sure knew how to work a room. I felt as proud of him as if he had just scored a hat trick in the World Cup. Not only did he make me glad that he was my coach or my boyfriend, but he just made me feel glad that I knew him.

After the last cookies and brownies had been eaten, it was decided that it was time to go, and everyone thanked Amelia and hugged her goodbye before making their way outside. I walked out with a group of girls, as Eric and Tara were in the middle of a heated debate about Sweden's tax system and unknowingly served as targets for us to make fun of. Hey, they were walking alone and getting all excited about taxes; I don't think anyone else could have contributed to that conversation (note to self: Wikipedia Sweden ASAP). I mean, come on – _Swedish taxes_?

Everyone got in their cars, and because Eric had parked behind me, I walked with him to his car.

"I'll take this home and wash it and I'll give it to you tomorrow, 'k?" I said as soon as we were out of earshot from everyone else.

"Don't worry about it. And Sookie?"

"Yes? AAH!" Just then Eric grabbed my hand and pulled me down, so that we were hiding behind his car and everyone else was on the other side. After quickly scanning the area around us, he grabbed me and laid one of the hottest, hardest, most passionate kisses on me. He managed to pin me against the car door despite the fact that he was crouching down on his knees, and he placed his hands on either side of my head. His mouth was hard and insistent, crashing down on me as steadily and strongly as waves on a beach during a heavy storm. He was animalistic and ferocious and it was sexy as hell. Unfortunately, the kiss ended as abruptly as it began, and Eric popped back up and held out a hand to help me up.

I was actually out of breath, and after a few seconds I said, "Not that I mind – and for future reference I most certainly do not – but what brought that about?"

"It was so fucking hot seeing you wear my jacket and having no one else know it was mine. I was thinking about doing that all night when Ginger was telling me about the prom after-party she held last year or when Dawn asked me what college soccer boys were like," he growled. He took a step closer to me, but halted once he saw a car drive by.

"Okay, well, see you tomorrow Sookie. Make sure you get a lot of sleep tonight," he recovered loudly. He still hugged me though, something that felt too brief and impersonal.

"It's a good thing you're a coach, because you would make a terrible actor," I breathed in his neck, but the suppressed laugh told me he heard every word.

"Sure thing, coach. I'm already looking forward to tomorrow."

I started walking to my car and turned around to wave to Eric one more time. Instead of saying goodbye or bidding me good night, he simply mouthed, "_Sure thing_?" and made a face before smiling and winking at me. I rolled my eyes and unlocked my car and drove off. Eric followed me for a bit, and I wondered what he was doing before he continued going straight after I turned onto my street. I beeped goodbye, and he responded.

When I got home and Gran asked me how I was, I said I was fine. But that was a lie. I was absolutely elated. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside – and not just because I was wearing his oversized jacket or absolutely stuffed with Italian food.

* * *

Hope it was worth the wait – not one of my favorite chapters, but with the big game and the date on Saturday, there should be some goodies coming up. Plus this was my longest chappie to date.

So once again, I'm sorry I was a little behind on updating – I got caught up in school and the holidays and wasn't exactly feeling too romantic to be writing a romance story. But things are looking up and I should be able to keep track of my schedule soonish.

And my entry for the Poppin' Eric's Cherry contest, Fill My Pot, is one of the seven finalists!! AAH! So you _definitely_ need to read/review/vote for it and all of the other entries at http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2130969/Poppin_Cherries !! Voting ends Tuesday, 12/29/09 at 11:59 PM PST so get to it! My story is between Eric and Pam, so if you like the Pam in Score! you totally should read Fill My Pot – the two Pams are fabulously similar (that sounded Pam-esque, didn't it? Hah.)


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: These characters are not mine, I just gave them uniforms and threw them on a soccer field. **

**And a very enthusiastic THANK YOU!!! to my beta, chiisai-kitty, for looking over this chapter before and after she went on a freakin' road trip!!! But I added some little things afterwards, so any remaining mistakes are mine.**

_When I got home and Gran asked me how I was, I said I was fine. But that was a lie. I was absolutely elated. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside – and not just because I was wearing his oversized jacket or absolutely stuffed with Italian food_

* * *

**SPOV:**

The referee blew his whistle, and the game was over. I immediately stopped sprinting for the first time the whole night and allowed myself to catch my breath. I put my hands behind my head and concentrated on breathing deeply, _innnn…outtt…innnn…outtt…._ As I was doing this, I looked around me and saw my other teammates standing still as well. A glance towards the sideline proved futile, as I couldn't make out Eric's expression from across the field. It didn't matter though – I already knew tonight was going to be a long night.

*~*~*

_Earlier that day…_

"How was school, Sookie?" Gran asked as I rushed in through the door. She knew today was a big day for me, so she already had a glass of water and a granola bar waiting for me on the kitchen table, something she always does before important soccer games.

I walked over to where she was sitting in the living room and gently kissed her on the cheek, saying, "Honestly, Gran, I can't even remember. I'm just glad I didn't have any tests today, because I've been so focused on tonight!"

"I know dear, and you seem as tense as rubber band wrapped around a slingshot. Why don't you come and sit with me a bit? Take some time to relax, because from what you've told me you won't have a lot of time to do that later on."

I obliged and plopped myself down next to her on the couch. "What did you do today, Gran?" I asked after I took a long sip of water. It was calming to listen to her talk about who she saw at the local grocery store and what she bought. Tara called halfway through Gran's stories to ask me to bring her soccer bag to the fields, since she was staying after to hang out with Eggs, but besides that little blip I had ten minutes of non-soccer and non-Eric thoughts for the first time all day. It was relaxing.

Gran's cuckoo clock squawked that it was 2:30, so I politely excused myself to get ready for tonight's game. Even though the game was at home and didn't start until 5:30, Eric wanted us to be at the fields by 3 so we could watch the JV game and get some warm-up time.

Nevertheless, I knew that I needed to start getting pumped up for the game well before its starting time, so the first thing I did when I entered my room was put my iPod on the dock and start playing my warm-up playlist. It was a guilty pleasure of mine that I downloaded from a surprisingly sweet burned CD that Jason gave me when I was made captain. I remembered that he said he listened to these songs before games and he wasn't joking when he said that he seriously believed that doing so made him a better player. I didn't buy into that hooey, but I still liked to hear the songs before big games. In typical Jason fashion, they were all rap/hip-hop hits that contained bad words and explicit and derogatory lyrics about women that a sane person wouldn't want their younger sister listening to, but the beat and the dirty nature of the songs just got me excited and made me feel like a bad ass.

So with "Dirt Off Your Shoulder" blaring, I quickly changed out of the simple jean shorts and plaid button down shirt that I had worn to school and into my white and blue soccer uniform. After I was done, I pretended to brush some dirt off my shoulder, laughing as I imagined what Tara would do if she saw me do that – she'd probably roll her eyes and mutter something under her breath about crazy-ass white folks.

Humming along with the songs (because I didn't know all of the words, and if I did I most definitely would not be saying them out loud while in the same house as Gran) and moving my hips to the booming bass line, I shimmied around my room, selecting my white soccer socks out of my soccer drawer and picking up my bag. I brushed my hair in a high pony even though I knew I would probably re-do it many times before tonight's game. A quick glance at the digital clock on my night stand informed me that it was now 2:45, and I really needed to get moving if I wanted to make it to the fields on time, let alone make it so that I could have some alone time with Eric.

During the time I had spent upstairs goofing around, Gran had moved into the kitchen, where she was preparing water bottles for me and Tara, softly humming along to the Johnny Cash song on the radio. Once she saw me, she giddily clapped her hands together before giggling, "Oh, Sookie dear, I simply cannot wait for tonight! You are going to play so well!"

"I certainly hope so, Gran," I laughed, "but what time are you going to be there?"

"Jason's picking me up at five, and then we're going over to the field right after that. Oh, that reminds me, I have to remember to bring an extra lawn chair for him."

"Don't worry 'bout it, I'm going to the shed anyways so I'll take it out and put it on the front porch, mmkay?"

"Thank you, dear. Now, come here and give your Gran a kiss before you run off to be the soccer star that you are."

I kissed her on the cheek and hugged her deeply before I left. She saw me off the front porch, and as soon as she was out of earshot I plugged in my iPod and resumed playing Jason's so-called "BAMF PLAYLIST."

Maybe it was because of the lyrics in "Stronger" or maybe it was because I just was really energized, but I arrived at the fields in record time. There were still more cars in the parking lot than I would have cared for, and I could see Tara's car parked next to Eric's. Fuckity-fuck.

Triple fuckity-fuck once I saw Eric sitting down with the rest of the team – I knew I should be glad that he' bonding with the team that he technically is the coach of, but I always enjoyed our pre-practice talks, one of the few times when we could just be our true Eric-and-Sookie selves. Not today, I guess – on the day I needed to be alone with him the most.

I felt an odd combination of guilt and anger and happiness when I walked towards the team, and I wish I didn't know why. I felt happy seeing Eric interact with the team like he'd known them all his life. But at the same time, I was angry to see Eric hanging out with the team during a time when I usually hung out with him1 v. 1. Then of course I felt guilty about feeling angry that Eric was doing his job.

"Hey, Sookie!" Eric called out, carelessly waving his short sleeve-less arm in greeting. Well, okay, now I just felt horny. I had never realized how nice Eric's arms were…probably because I was too buy gaping at his chest or his abs or his eyes or his mouth or his hair or…shit, I had a hot boyfriend! He looked like he could be Mr. January on a calendar or something; I could just see him "making love to the camera," lying on a bed smirking with one very muscular arm tucked behind his head on the pillow and one hand carelessly resting on the sheet that was located just below his exposed abs. Sigh.

Whenever I went to the gym, I always focused on running or strengthening my legs – why work on your arms when you play with your feet? Lazy, but true – my arms were just plain old arms. I could tell Eric wasn't of that mindset. His proportionate body type, coupled with his height and heritage, made him look like a gorgeous 21st century Viking, but without a weird beard.

While I was too busy ogling Eric, the rest of the girls said "hi" to me. I forced myself to look away from Eric – _look away, damnit!_ – and smiled at everyone. "Hey guys! What's up?"

"We were just going to play 'Zoomy Zoomy.' You want in?" Amelia asked. Despite the whirlwind of emotions I had just experienced, I managed to giggle at how Amelia could always be counted on going ape over silly fourth grade games like Drip, Drip, Drop or 'Zoomy Zoomy.' A deep rumble told me that Eric was thinking the exact same thing as me, so I snuck a peek and was rewarded with the sight of Eric winking at me. _Sigh_.

After taking a second to compose myself, I responded, "Sure thing, Amelia. I mean, you of all people should remember how much I like that game." Amelia and the rest of the team broke out in giggles, and Eric slipped on a confused look and raised an eyebrow at me.

Answering his unasked question, I said, "Last summer we raised enough money to go to this soccer camp on the Gulf Coast, and so our whole team went and stayed in a couple cabins for two weeks. Except we had an odd number of girls, I think it was that we had twenty-one people and each cabin fit ten people, so I stayed with a team from New Orleans. And I was fine with that, until I realized that all they did when they weren't playing soccer was this game. I got so, so sick of it by the end of the week that I wanted to sleep outside of the cabin and not give a fuck about the camp regulations, so it's a bit of a sore spot for me. Amelia, as I'm sure you've figured out, doesn't really feel the same way– she even organized a camp-wide game!"

"Damn straight. Wasn't enough to make the Guinness book of world records, though," Amelia pouted.

Everyone laughed, and I continued, "All right, so here's how you play 'Zoomy Zoomy.' You sit cross-legged in a circle, and everyone is assigned a number, except for someone who's assigned to be Zoomy, and starts hitting their thighs twice and then clap twice – to the beat of like, thigh thigh, clap, clap. And the Zoomy person starts it, and while she hits her thighs, she says, "Zoomy Zoomy," and when she claps she says a number twice, like "five, five." And then the person who is five says her number, "five, five," when she hits her thighs, and then some other number, like "ten, ten." And so on. When someone screws up, like if they don't talk in rhythm with the beat or if they say a number that no one's assigned to, then they're out of the game."

"So then how many people did you get to play at camp?" Of course Eric would see that competition as the most relevant information.

"Three-forty-five," Amelia said proudly

"Wow. Well, I know we don't have that many players, but I'd like to play," Eric said.

"Mmkay, so I call dibs on Zoomy!" Amelia shouted as soon as Eric finished, throwing her hands in the air. She ran over to an open spot, ran around in a circle like a little dog, and sat down Indian-style. "Who's with me?"

Everyone flocked over to her to form a circle, and Eric walked over with me. He murmured, "Hey Stackhouse."

"'Sup Northman. Sorry I didn't come earlier today."

"No worries. There'll be other days." He peered down on me with a small smile on his face, one that I returned.

We sat next to each other – coach and player, Northman and Stackhouse, 12 and 13.

"Lucky number thirteen," I sardonically muttered under my breath.

"Very," Eric whispered back, gently brushing my bare knee with his rough one before Amelia started the game. I hoped no one else noticed that Eric picked me almost every chance he was called, which happened a lot more to him than it did to me. As time went on and more people started showing up, the game just got bigger and bigger, and soon it was time to start the JV game. Amelia proclaimed herself to be the winner, and everyone was too busy watching the game to care.

Eric had made his way over to the sideline to hang out with his new friend, Chow, who was the JV coach; despite the fact that Chow used to be the resident hottie soccer coach – thanks to his sleeve tattoos and exotic Asian looks – until Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome came in on the scene, the two were quickly becoming good friends. They certainly made a pretty picture with their longish locks, aviators, and tight ribbed tank tops, and I wasn't the only gal to pick up on that. Not only could I hear my teammates talking about them, but I could also hear their mothers gossiping about the coaches as well. Welcome to Bon Temps. Like Eric, Chow was new this year. Bill hadn't exactly warmed up to Chow – he kept saying he liked the former JV coach better – but Eric was just proving once again that he was not Bill.

After the first half, Eric and Chow did that weird fist bump, half hug thing that guys always do, and strutted across the field to join us; I could practically hear the pocket mirrors being opened and lipstick caps being unscrewed. He cocked his head over to the side of the bleachers, and we trailed behind him like he was laying a trail of Starbursts for us to follow.

Instead of motioning for us to sit like he usually did during group huddles, Eric cleared his throat and said, "I'm glad you guys knew enough to put all your gear on already. I forgot to tell you that earlier, but I'll expect you all to have shin guards, socks, and cleats on by the beginning of half time whenever JV plays before us. Once again, you guys have both surprised and amazed me with your awesomeness. Well…okay, awesomeness isn't really the best word, but it'll do. Because awesomeness is what you have, and awesomeness is what you will demonstrate later tonight, of that I am sure."

He stopped, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled faintly before furrowing his brow and continuing, "Play time is over for us, though. Listen up – we have about forty-five minutes, and then, bam, it's game time. Forty-five minutes. That's all. That's like, what, math class for you guys? So it's like math class is your last class of the day, the only thing standing between you and the end of school, when you're free. Think of it like that. 'Cause now it's time to focus. That means no more boys, no more camp games, and no more gossip. Just you, me, and a soccer ball. So now I want you, while it's still half time, to take a warm up jog around the field and then – awh, hell, just take the run so we can get it over with and then I'll tell you what you're going to do while you all stretch afterwards. Go!"

We eagerly complied, and soon enough we were standing in front of Eric like before, only this time we were breathing a bit more heavily.

"Great. Great. Okay, so now I want you guys to stretch it out. Take some time to do this, make sure you're not tight or sore anywhere that you shouldn't be. I'd rather spend a few extra minutes before the game than have to stop the game to carry you off the field. So why don't you guys do that, and I'll resume talking. I'm thinking we do a Zoomy Zaamy or Drip Drip Drop or whatever kind of circle you guys always arrange yourselves in, and I'll be standing in the middle."

After we formed a circle around Eric and were stretching, he walked around the interior of the circle and began talking again. "I want you guys to listen to me. Forget about the game that's playing now. Forget about the referee whistles and the yelling and the parents on the sideline talking. Forget about the sound of the other team warming up. Just listen to me. Just listen to me and concentrate on stretching."

By this time Eric was standing in front of me, and of course now was the point in my stretching ritual when my legs were spread apart and my hands were planted on the grass and my head was down and my butt was up. I wasn't even looking at him or tracking where he was walking until I saw his familiar Puma cleats stationed right near my head. Without moving my head I looked up, _way up_, and was instantly taken back by the fiery passion burning in his bright blue orbs – it reminded me of what the blue flame looked like in the chem. lab I finished last week. He looked as hungry and powerful as his speeches had been today. Nervous that he hadn't said anything in about twenty seconds and the team was supposed to be focusing on him, I raised an eyebrow and pointedly mouthed, "yes, coach?" to try and get him back on track. His eyes widened and he subtly nodded before taking a couple steps back and continuing his talk.

"Um, right, so just take another minute or so to get loose, and then what I want you guys to do is grab a partner and a ball and just start hitting long balls while spaced about twenty yards apart. Halleigh, I'll start warming you up with some goalkeeper drills. "

I nodded at Tara, my partner in everything, and she went off to find a soccer ball for us to pass with. Since everyone was finding some space or a ball, I figured it'd be okay if I snuck a peek at Eric – the sight I saw kind of made me wish I didn't. Eric hadn't moved like the rest of the team, as he remained in the same spot he was in when he forced himself to move away from me. He was massaging his temples with his eyes closed. After shaking his head like a wet dog, he removed his hand, popped his eyes open, and looked around for Halleigh. Once he found her hovering near the soccer bags, he started throwing the ball at her at different angles and speeds.

I forced myself not to think about why Eric looked that distressed, and concentrated on hitting the ball back and forth with Tara. After a while, Eric stopped his routine with Halleigh and yelled, "Quickly now, I want you to get in a group of six and play 5 v. 1, with that one person wearing a pinny and playing a demented game of monkey in the middle. Once you get the ball, the person who forced the bad play is in the middle. Get to it!" Given the number of our team, someone could help Halleigh practice and Eric was free to roam around and observe the various soccer games. On the outside, he looked calm and composed, but I could see by the way he kept squaring his shoulders and running his hands through his hair that he was more nervous for the upcoming game than he wanted to let on.

After some time had passed, the JV game ended (they won!) and Eric hurriedly motioned for us to pick up our bags and walk on the field together.

It just so happened that Russell Edgington decided to walk his team across the field at the same time Eric did – I could feel the tension even though I was about forty yards away from the source. I took the time to check out Edgington, who looked even creepier he did in the famous Soccergate photo or as I remembered him looking last year when I scored the final goal against the Shreveport Sluts, as Amelia had taken to calling that team.

He was a good foot shorter than Eric, but what he lacked in size Edgington made up for it in rottenness. Although he had a striking combination of bitter chocolate eyes coupled with red hair, his features were lined with ferocity, especially when he was yelling at his team to hurry up like they were a pack of mules, like he was now. He was also wearing a tacky and flashy black and red track suit made out of that shiny, swishy material found in awesomely bad soccer videos from the '80s. He just looked like someone you'd be embarrassed to know.

Eric, in a stunning contrast, was actually walking and positively interacting with his team on the way over; he was deep in strategy talks with Halleigh, and even though he was on the other side of the walking blob that was our team I could see him wildly gesturing with his hands and nodding enthusiastically. Eric had managed to obtain a "Bon Temps Soccer" light blue track jacket that had "Coach Northman" embroidered on the chest, and he was wearing that over the tank top and jeans he had before. Sure, he was fitted a little more casually than Bill, who always insisted on wearing a blazer and stiff khakis no matter the temperature or weather condition, but I was sure that just meant Eric would be freer to move up and down the sidelines.

I wanted to roll my eyes at how dramatic something as simple as walking across a soccer field became, but I really couldn't because I was supposed to be talking to Tara about what plays we should run on corner kicks. I just hoped that this apparent flair for the dramatics wouldn't continue into the game. As I nodded and "uh-huh-ed" my way over to the sideline, I was hit with a wave of nervousness and anxiousness that I hadn't felt before a soccer game in a while. If this was a big game for me, with all of the college scouts sniffing around me, then it must have been a mammoth-sized game for Eric; he has to feeling what I was feeling times a million. After all, this was the first time he'd seen Edgington since the injury – this was Eric's chance to say, "You might have crippled me, but you haven't broken me."

Now I finally understood what Eric meant when he said that we'd have to be his legs and feet. I wanted to win for Eric – something that, quite frankly, scared me because I'd never wanted to win a game just because a coach told me to. Then again, I'd never had a coach like Eric and I'd never felt what I felt for Eric for anyone else. Yeah, that might have something to do with it.

The referee called for captains, so Tara, Amelia, and I confidently made our way over to the half line. I recognized one of the Shreveport captains, Bettie Joe Pickard, from last year; she had injured Ginger and laughed as the poor blonde had to be carried off to the sidelines – I wasn't Ginger's biggest fan, but even I wouldn't do that. The referee performed the coin toss, and it turned out that we would start with the ball. We walked back to the bench and informed Eric and the rest of the team.

Eric nodded before announcing the starting lineup – he put me in my usual spot, center forward. Immediately afterwards, the national anthem was sung and the starters were announced; when my name was called I high-fived the remaining girls on the sideline, ran to midfield and shook the hands of Edgington, the referees, and Eric, and ran to the field and high-fived the rest of the starters.

While waiting for the Shreveport girls to do the same, I looked at the bleachers and was amazed at how filled it was. Usually this many people came to our games during the playoffs, but to have so many fans about three weeks into our season was heartwarming. Maybe it was because of our game against Shreveport or they heard about Eric and wanted to check him out or maybe they heard about his rivalry with Edgington – whatever the reason, I was glad so many people showed up to support us.

Then it was time to meet at our bench for one final pep talk from Eric. Instead of wiggling or being raised, his eyebrows were furrowed and all scrunched up as he said, "I know that you're waiting for me to give a movie-worthy pump-up speech like I've done in the past, but I can't. You're here now, you're going to play, and you know what to do. So I've only got one word for you to chew on: intensity. Intensity on the field. Intensity in your heart. Intensity in your body. Intensity in your brain. We've worked so hard to get here, just give it all you've got. Play your heart out. This is it. This is what we've practiced for. This is what we play for. _This is what we play for_. Now everyone put your hands in … 'This is it' on three. One, two, three!"

We all cheered and then the starters ran onto the field. I took my spot and anxiously waited for the referee to blow his whistle. Eric might have thought that his speech wouldn't be a good pump-up speech, but he was just stupid wrong.

Then the game started, and I didn't have time to think about Eric or his speech or anything else besides playing. Shreveport was a tough win last year, and even though the game just started I could tell it would be a battle – no, an all out war. Edgington might be a crazy bastard, but he was coaching a pretty damn good team.

The score was tied 0-0 at half-time, although there had been a lot of close calls for both teams. I almost scored a header off a corner kick, but it hit the top of the goal post instead and I heard Eric's desperate roar from the sidelines. Other than that, I hadn't heard a peep out of him; Bill was a silent coach too. Edgington, on the other hand, was ballistic; he didn't scream but rather hissed at anyone who would listen – his team, the other team, and even the referees. As I jogged past his sidelines after the whistle was blown, I heard him furiously ask Bettie Joe Pickard what the fuck she thought she was doing out there, and even I flinched.

It's not like Eric was the poster boy for being cool, calm, and collected, though; he had snapped at Maudette when she asked if she could run to the porta-potty in the parking lot during half time – "Sure, and while you're at it, why don't you just run home? 'Cause I need all of my players to be focused on the game, not their bladder." It was tough love, I guess – I understood and respected what he was saying, but that didn't mean he couldn't have packaged it better.

We all sat down and formed a semi-circle around him, but he just silently paced back and forth. Even though I was exhausted from not being subbed out all half and was trying to make up for it by drinking lots of water, I had to stop and stare at Eric. I had no idea what he was going to say, and judging by the hushed silence no one else did either.

"And here's Eric Northman with the half-time report. Eric, take it away," Tara spoke up after a full minute of complete nothingness. She was just saying what the whole team – including me, the coach's girlfriend – was too shit-scared to say. One side of Eric's perfect mouth lifted in a sad little half-smile and he chuckled a ghostly chuckle.

"Thanks, Tara. Eric Northman here. It's a beautiful day in Bon Temps and…" Eric trailed off, as the rest of our team broke out into surprised giggles. He had even pretended to speak into a little microphone, and he looked much better than he had before.

"Okay, seriously now," he said as the giggles started lessening, "I'm pleased with what we've done so far. Of course, I would have been a lot more pleased if there was a big, beautiful '1' or '2' or '10' underneath our name on the billboard, but it's not like you guys haven't been trying. You just have to try harder to get rid of the goose egg. I'm not worried yet – we have forty-five minutes left and we're going to need every minute of it. Don't make all of those sprints and exercises that I made you do this past week count for nothing. Like I said before, give it all you've got. You're free on the weekend and our next game isn't until a week from now, so you'll have time to rest. I promise."

After reviewing some plays we could use and making some adjustments to the line-up, Eric looked up at me and asked, "Captains, did I forget anything?"

Amelia, Tara and I all looked at each other. Did we all get hit with soccer balls during the game? _Eric_ was asking for our input? With Bill, his word reigned supreme – it wasn't even 'my way or the highway' with him, it was his way _only_. The rest of the team looked as stupefied as I'm sure I did.

I cleared my throat and said, "Well, I've noticed that they tend to get the ball to the center forward or midfielder a lot, and she always sends a long ball to the corner that forces our outside defenders to basically run a forty-yard dash with the Shreveport offense."

Eric beamed at me before responding, "Excellent point, Stackhouse. I noticed that too. I'm going to push Felicia into center-midfielder, and Felicia, all I want you to do is mark their center midfielder. Tara, as stopper I really need you to keep an eye on their center forward. I know that she usually isn't responsible for the long balls, but I need you to be on her like flies on shit."

"Fitting simile," Tara muttered, but Eric heard her and laughed appreciatively along with the rest of us. He then announced the line-up, and we took our spots on the field.

About seven minutes in, Shreveport scored – one of those shots straight in the corner of the net and you just have to admire it because there's no way that any goalie could be able to save it.

"Shake it off girls, let's get it back!" I heard Amelia shout after play resumed. But it seemed as soon as she said that, she was immediately tackled by one of the Shreveport midfielders. Even though she was on the other side of the field, I could still tell that she had hit the ground and landed weirdly on her ankle.

"C'mon Amelia, get up girl," I murmured, not even caring about the reaction of the defender guarding me. "You've had worse, just get up."

But she stayed motionless on the ground, and after what felt like an eternity the referee blew his whistle and motioned for Eric to come on the field. My heart stilled as I realized that not only had Amelia not gotten up, but she also hadn't moved once. _Oh, shit_.

Fortunately (well, unfortunately really, but whatever) she was able to sit up a little when Eric crouched down next to her, but when she tried to stand up she started sobbing; Eric scooped her in his arms and brought her over to the sidelines. _Oh no no no no no, that can't be good_.

Tara had yelled for the rest of the team to huddle up, so I was watching all of this from center field. The custom was to always give the injured person some space and not crowd all around her, and so we always held a mini team huddle where the captains would give a pep talk to the nervous players.

"Okay, so things aren't looking too good, but we can fix that! We still have time. Just play smart soccer, don't do anything rash, and play our game. Let's do this for Amelia," I said. The girls cheered. Flashing back to the first time I really hung out with Eric I added, "Scratch that. Let's do this for _us_. We've worked for this, and we just have to want it more than they do. Let's do it for Amelia and Tara and me and you and Eric. I told him about our Merlotte's after parties, and he said that if it was a good game he wouldn't mind being dragged on the dance floor as long as he had a reason to celebrate. And I think a win against our mutual rival would function as a reason to celebrate right?" The girls cheered again – louder. Well, whatever the reason, I guess.

After someone was subbed in for Amelia, the playing resumed; later on Felicia hit a beautiful shot from about thirty yards out that just skimmed by the goalie's hands and sailed into the net like a water balloon. We all cheered and swarmed Felicia to hug and high-five her; after all that fuss, we pretended to be airplanes and spread our arms out and ran in zig-zag patterns, a team tradition after we saw it in a soccer movie.

The kick-off started, and both teams struggled to take shots on net in the remaining minutes. Every second, every run, every pass, counted more than it had in the past; the pressure was building with every moment as the players and parents and – in Edgington's case – the coaches became louder and louder. I loved it though. As Eric said, this is what we play for.

After nearly scoring – the ball went over the net and I could practically hear Bill's soft Southern drawl telling me to keep my head down when shooting – I glanced up and saw that there was three minutes left. _F. U. C. K. _I threw all my energy into the game, making runs and getting open as much as possible. But because of the time and my reputation, Edgington made sure that I was double-teamed and really wasn't much use to my teammates.

Luckily for me, I was much faster than the goons acting as my shadow, and I was able to break free just in time for Tara to send a ball coming my way. It flew over my head and was making its way down to the corner, and it was just a flat out race between me and the defender. I sprinted as hard as I could and made it to the ball first, dribbling it quickly in front of me like one of Eric's many drills that we had gone over during the past week. The thud of the pounding footsteps behind me, the shrieking – yes, shrieking – of Edgington from my right, the heightened cries from the spectators – everything disappeared and it was just me, the ball, and the terrified-looking goalie with her hands tense and ready to catch anything I kicked at her. Recognizing her stance, I fake-kicked and made like I was going to shoot the ball, but in reality I just pushed it a little to the side. However, the goalie mistakenly dove to the right side of the net, and I easily passed the ball to the left side of the goal.

Then all of the sounds caught up with me – the referee's whistle announcing the validity of the goal, the sounds of cheers from anyone wearing the blue and white colors of Bon Temps, the "Oh my God!"s and "Sookie!"s from my teammates, the lion roar that I just knew came out of Eric's beautiful mouth. I did it. I fucking did it. We were winning now, 2-1, with thirty-seven seconds left on the score board, probably a little more with injury time. All we needed now was to contain, to play keep-away, to kick it as hard as we could out of bounds when we were under pressure. I reminded my team this as we aeroplaned (yeah, that's a verb for us) our way back to our side of the field.

Everyone did as I said, and Tara booted the ball out of bounds in the last five seconds. The screams coming from the field and the sideline and the bleachers were louder than the final buzzer.

The referee blew his whistle, and the game was over. I immediately stopped sprinting for the first time the whole night and allowed myself to catch my breath. I put my hands behind my head and concentrated on breathing deeply, _innnn…outtt…innnn…outtt…._ As I was doing this, I looked around me and saw my other teammates standing still as well. A glance towards the sideline proved futile, as I couldn't make out Eric's expression from across the field. It didn't matter though – I already knew tonight was going to be a long night.

Feeling like I just ran a marathon – and in my own little way, I kind of did – I forced myself to actually run over to the bench. I was greeted by the rest of my team and they formed this giant, giddy group-hug around me; even Amelia was up and jumping after resting for some time. Although I was surrounded by stinky, sweaty girls, I never felt closer and happier to be on this team as I did now. Once someone pointed out that Shreveport had lined up and were waiting to shake hands, we stopped and straightened into a line, shaking palms outstretched in the anticipation of high-fiving the girls. On our team, the goalie always went first and then the three captains, so I made my way up to the front and was completely taken back when I saw the Shreveport team with their elbows, not their hands, out.

"It's for swine flu, so we bump elbows now, not hands or fists. Just a little Shreveport health precaution," Bettie Joe said by way of explanation; I wasn't the only one dumbly starting at their arms.

I nodded and smiled, while internally wondering why there was any need for little Shreveport health precautions if we had just spent the past ninety minutes pushing and touching and sweating all over one another – soccer is a contact sport, after all. But whatever – it didn't matter because WE WON!!!!!

After we bumped elbows with the opponents – and _shook hands_ with the referees – we resumed our silly squealing and screaming that only deliriously happy teenage girls can do. As I was walking back to the bench, I was tackled from behind by my assailant – an ecstatic Eric who had grabbed my hips and was twirling me around with my legs in the air and my arms gripping his. It was such a childish action, and the fact that it was performed by such an adult-looking guy made me laugh. He laughed back and the rest of the team – the ones who weren't standing with their mouths open, that is – laughed as well.

"Stackhouse, you fucking _rock_!" Eric roared as he put me down. He then gave me a huge bear hug – not a romantic one, but one a coach would give to a player who just saved his very toned ass by scoring the winning goal in the last thirty seconds.

He let go and I was finally able to look at his face; if I thought his eyes sparkled or shined or glistened or glowed before, than I would have to buy a thesaurus because his eyes were currently doing all of that and more. He was laughing like a maniac and it was contagious because I felt myself bubbling with giggling.

"Stack-_house_! Stack-_house!_ Stack-_house_!" Eric cheered loudly, and the rest of the team quickly joined in. Eric lifted me up in the air and briefly twirled me around like a makeshift ballerina before setting me down and clapping his hands in time with his makeshift chant.

After the chanting finally died down, we made our way back to the bench; everyone was chatting and giggling about what would happen next at our Merlotte's after-party. I looked over my shoulder and stopped walking when I saw Eric shaking hands with a very sour-looking Edgington, who wore a plastic smile that just looked stupid compared to Eric's ginormous shit-eating grin. I pretended to tie my shoelace so I could hear what Edgingotn was hissing, which was, "Congratulations on your big win, Northman. Can't wait to see what the score will be next time when you don't have the number-one forward in the state on your team."

Eric opened his mouth to retort but Edgington just nodded and slithered away before any words could come out. Fucking coward, how dare he ruin Eric's much-deserved celebration! Eric looked like he wanted to stuff a soccer ball up Edgington's ass, so I quickly made my way over to where Eric was standing and just hugged him before he could say anything about it being coach-player time.

I mumbled into his heaving chest, "Forget that asshole, Eric. He's just mad because your team ate his team for dinner and he doesn't have a legitimate excuse to tackle you without getting arrested. Okay?"

Eric breathed heavily, and I felt my cheek rise up and down. Eric squeezed me a little tighter, like I was his Sookie-sized comfort blanket, and released me, saying, "You're right, Stackhouse. And tonight's only the beginning. I'm way too happy to concentrate on anything other than our win and your fuckawesome soccer skills. C'mon, let's head over."

He slipped a hand around my shoulder and brought me closer to him, so close that my arm was squished until I remembered to put it around his back. We walked like that, doing our own version of the two-legged race without actually having a bandana tied around our knee, and by the time we reached the sideline Eric was cheering all over again. Two of the girls snuck around him with our water cooler splashing around, and before I could detach myself from Eric they poured the water all over him. Except that given his height and the amount of water in the heavy container, they really only made it up to his shoulders, but my entire body – sweaty head included – was soaked.

The rest of the team started laughing again – and this had to be some kind of record because we had been laughing continuously for at least ten minutes – and after exchanging grins Eric and I joined in as well. The laughing stopped when Eric zipped off his jacket, and was standing soaking wet with just his jeans and a now-see-through white wifebeater. Oh my god, I couldn't think of any way he could look hotter, what with the indents of his sex-pack – sorry, _six-_pack – and pecs clearly shown in the wet fabric and droplets of water streaming down his muscular arms.

I was wrong – Eric shucked off his beater and was shirtless – abs and muscles and skin for all to worship for a couple glorious seconds before he bent over and pulled a navy "LA Galaxy" tee shirt out of his bag. I think I liked him better glistening with water and in soaked jeans than I did in his swim trunks, but that might just be because all I could think about was how sexy Eric currently looked. Seriously, if someone had right then and there asked me what my name was, I probably would have responded, "Eric's chest" – if I managed to make any noise at all.

Everyone seemed just as enthralled as I did, but our hypnosis was lifted when Eric put his shirt back on and noticed us staring intently at him.

"All right, who's ready to CELEBRATE?"Eric bellowed, evidently choosing not to comment on how his team was staring at him like, well, he was an unbelievably good-looking probable sex god who managed to fall down to Earth and grace us mere mortals with his presence. Which, in a way, was kind of what he was.

Someone "woo-hooed" (really, I am just on a roll making up these verbs tonight) and everyone snapped out of their lusty trance and started cheering again. We shucked off our sweaty soccer equipment and headed over to the bleachers to salute our cheering fans. Then about five more minutes of screaming and laughing occurred before Eric bellowed, "To Merlotte's!" and the crowd dispersed.

At that time I was talking to Gran and Jason after both of them hugged me – yeah, I was also surprised that Jason actually hugged me! – and congratulated me on my goal. I asked Gran if she was coming to Merlotte's, which she sometimes did, and she responded, "Oh, Sookie, I'm so sorry but I am just feeling a little more tired than usual tonight."

Jason's face fell, as mine did too – I just knew that he had been looking forward to doing a little scoring of his own tonight with one of the bar patrons.

"Don't worry about it, Gran. There will be other times at Merlotte's. Here, why don't you take my keys, so Jason doesn't have to drive you home and then drive back to Merlotte's?"

Jason flashed me a grateful smile and hugged Gran goodbye and slapped me on the back before catching up with some friends. Gran reached out to take my keys, but then suddenly brushed past me with both arms now extended. I whipped my head around and saw Gran snuggled up against a very surprised and confused looking Eric. I smirked – _the man's so gorgeous he should be used to women throwing themselves at him no matter what their age is_.

After a few seconds, Eric shrugged at me and warmly hugged Gran back, even closing his eyes and patting her shoulders affectionately before she pulled back.

"I probably should have introduced myself before the hug, but my name is Adele Stackhouse, Sookie's Gran, and I just wanted to congratulate you and welcome you into our soccer family. Sookie has been talking about you and this game all week, and I'm so happy for tonight's win," Gran said.

Eric glanced at me before grinning, "I am too, Ms. Stackhouse. Sookie's a great player and I think very highly of her – even more after her goal!"

Gran laughed heartily, and Eric did too. I, on the other hand, looked like Eric ripped his face off and revealed he was a three-headed alien with green skin. Seriously, I kind of wanted him to – could he _be _any more perfect?

"Ms. Stackhouse, will you be attending the get-together at Merlotte's?"

"Oh, please, Eric, call me Adele. I meant to say that before you got me laughing! And unfortunately I will not be attending the festivities, although I wish I were now. I don't feel up to par."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Eric quickly asked, looking concerned and thoughtful as he reached out and placed a hand on Gran's arm.

"Heavens, no, Eric. I'll be all right. Although now that you've mentioned it, there is one thing you can do for me."

"Sure, anything. What is it?"

"Well, you see now, Sookie just gave me her car to drive her home so she doesn't have any way to get to Merlotte's. Would you be a gentleman and drive her to Merlotte's?"

"I'd love to, Adele. Sookie, are you okay with that?"

I nodded, too shocked at how quickly Gran and Eric had taken a liking to each other to form sentences that didn't sound like they were written by Tarzan (i.e. "Me Tarzan. You Jane). But uh, duh, of course I was more than okay with that.

Eric grinned and said, "Excellent. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Adele. Thank you for coming to watch your shining Sookie soccer star play."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything – and I especially won't now with you as her coach! Have fun, you two, you've earned it. And Sookie, I'll probably go to sleep as soon as I get home, okay?"

"Okay Gran. Thanks for coming, I'll probably sleep over at Amelia's like always. See you tomorrow."

Gran hugged both of us and walked off, leaving just me and Eric behind. Eric hoisted his bag over his shoulder and flicked his head to the parking lot, indicating that I should start walking with him. I did just that, and we walked together as inconspicuously as possible over to his car. I just hoped that everyone was too busy "woo-hoo"ing to notice the captain getting into the coach's car and driving away.

* * *

**Hey all, hoped you liked it! Up next: after party at Merlotte's!!! Can I get a "woo hoo" or two? :)**

**Seriously, though. (insert witty comment about reviewing here: *_________* ) Pwetty please? **

**I don't say this enough, but thank you so, so much for your pms/reviews/alerts/favorites/reading of this story. Especially if I forgot to reply to yours. Cyber hug!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry to be posting this a little later than I initially expected! Real life is no fun sometimes. But to make it up for you, it's the biggest chapter thus far (I know, they just seem to be getting bigger and bigger). And I'm being totally honest when I say it's my favorite chapter, directly in front of the one with Pam's narration. Hopefully you'll like it just as much. BTW thanks for all the "woo hoo" reviews from last chapter!**

**As always, a grande-sized Eric Northman thank you (you'll get this later on, trust) to chiisai-kitty for her grammatically correct, insightful, and side-splittingly hilarious comments that make me laugh as much as pretty much anything Lafayette's ever said on True Blood. But I did go over this a couple times, so any lingering mistakes are all mine. Damn.**

**These characters are not mine, although I did try to recreate one of my favorite scenes from SVM (let's be honest here, yeah, it's probably what you're thinking.) And I also threw in my favorite Generation Kill line, so give me a holler if you can point it out (this one's for you, morecks87!!)**

_Gran hugged both of us and walked off, leaving just me and Eric behind. Eric hoisted his bag over his shoulder and flicked his head to the parking lot, indicating that I should start walking with him. I did just that, and we walked together as inconspicuously as possible over to his car. I just hoped that everyone was too busy "woo-hoo"ing to notice the captain getting into the coach's car and driving away._

* * *

During the ride to Merlotte's Eric and I went over every detail in the game like the two big soccer nerds that we were; he described some of the crazy-ass comments that Edgington shrieked on the sidelines, and I told him what I said in my speech during the time-out for Amelia's injury.

"Really, Stackhouse? Really? You used me dancing as a motivational tool to get the girls pumped up? That's insane!"

"Hey, don't be hating! It worked, didn't it?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. Pretty boy could protest all he wanted, but he was flattered, I could tell.

While I was fiddling with the radio stations a few moments later, Eric randomly cried out, "Shit, Sookie, you never changed after they poured water on you! You must be so uncomfortable right now! My gym bag – yeah, the infamous soccer bag has a brother – should be in the backseat, and there should be a plain black hoodie in there somewhere. And don't worry, I didn't work out in it and I removed all the sweaty gym clothes, so you should be fine"

Startled, I turned and saw that the sweatshirt was where he said it was. I didn't even think about changing out of my uniform because we usually just went to Merlotte's straight from the game. On the other hand, tonight was a little different considering that mine was soaking wet.

I was touched by Eric's thoughtfulness and how he was able to pick up on stuff about me that I didn't even notice. But would it be too much if I just took my uniform top off and just wore Eric's sweatshirt over my sports bra – in front of him?

As if reading my mind, Eric quickly said, "You know, Stackhouse, if you wanted to change in here I wouldn't look, I'd just focus on the road."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, right, Eric."

"No, I'm serious! But it's not like it's nothing I haven't seen before, right?"

Hmm…he had a point. And I was wearing my prettiest light blue sports bra. Ahh, what the hell, why not?

"Okay Northman, feast your eyes. But I'm warning you, I don't want my dead, shirtless body to be found next to yours with your car slammed into a tree!" I joked, moving the seatbelt strap behind my back but keeping the buckle fastened.

"Stackhouse, are you suggesting that my dead body will be shirtless too?" I could practically _hear_ him smirking.

"Haha, if I wasn't in the middle of taking my shirt off I'd punch you."

Eric didn't have a snappy retort. Silence. Pure silence. Note to self: if you want to win an argument with Eric, just take your shirt off, and victory is yours. Easy as that.

After I lifted my uniform top over my head, I turned and saw that Eric was blatantly ogling me. It was rewarding to see that I affected him as much as he affected me. He didn't even look embarrassed when I caught him, he just winked and smirked. He smirked and _I_ was the person he was staring at! And now I was getting all hot and bothered because _he_ looked so damned sexy! _I_ was the one with my shirt off and all I could think of was how sexy Eric looked! Only Eric would be able to do that…

I smirked and picked up the sweatshirt and muttered, "3…2…1…" as I shrugged it on.

"Noooooo!" Eric mock-wailed. He waited until I slithered back under my seatbelt strap to reach over and trace one of the three stripes that ran down my sleeve. He opened my hand up so he could hold it comfortably and said, "Well, I guess if you're going to cover yourself up with something, then I'm glad it's with something of mine."

"Wow, wanna pee on me while you're at it? Or write your name on my forehead with black Sharpie?"

"Just don't wash the sweatshirt afterwards, 'kay?"

"EEW!"

"Relax, I'm just kiddin'. I knew it'd freak you out."

"Eric, this entire night I'm going to be wearing just your sweatshirt and a sports bra and you're the only one who knows it."

"…"

"Hah, I knew it'd freak you out." _I win._

By the time we pulled into Merlotte's crammed parking lot – and Eric showed off his driving skills like he had the last time we were at the restaurant by parallel parking – it already seemed like the entire town was crammed into Sam's place. And as the blaring music escaping from Merlotte's proclaimed, tonight was going to be a good, good night. Yessiree. Especially when I asked Eric if I should bring my soccer bag with me into Merlotte's and he said I should just leave it and we could figure it out when it was time to leave.

I internally squealed and grabbed his hand, pulling him near the employee entrance out back. Once we got there I tried to use my other hand to open the door, but Eric suddenly swiveled me around so that my back was up against the door and he was right in front of me, attacking my face with his mouth and bombarding me with hot kisses. Kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss…He slammed his hands up against the wall on either side of my face, and pressed himself onto me.

Maybe it was the excitement or the adrenaline or I needed to celebrate, but I kissed back just as eagerly and urgently, pulling him closer to me by wrapping my fingers around his neck and angling my face up. I flattened my body against his, and I could feel that Eric was cocked and loaded. Despite this being the first time I had ever felt something like that, it was like my body knew exactly what to do and I felt my hips desperately scrape his like he was my very own scratch ticket

He moaned, and I opened my eyes to see what was up. Eric's beautiful blues were mere inches from mine, and his eyes widened when he saw that I was watching him watch me. He was so close that it almost looked like he just had a big Cyclops eye. He winked and removed his right hand from where it was trying to make a dent into Sam's wooden wall and slowly, too slowly, ran it down the entire left side of my body – hair to face to neck to _thisclose_ to my breast then into the curve of my stomach and back out again to my hips and then my lower back, where he pressed me even closer to him and didn't let go. My bottom half was deliciously smushed up against his, and to compensate I pressed his chest into mine and kissed even more feverishly. My eyes never left his, and it was so erotic watching how I was affecting him I briefly wondered why I had ever thought I needed to close my eyes while kissing.

A sprinkling of laughter coming from around the corner shocked me and Eric out of our trance, and before I could even react Eric's hand flew from its position next to my head and onto the door handle. Using the hand still wrapped around my back he moved me over so I wasn't blocking the door and pushed us both inside. He made sure the door was locked so whoever had interrupted us wouldn't follow. Now it was just me, Eric, and the sound of us trying to catch our breath.

"Wowza," I gasped. Between the nerves and the stress and the game and the make out session, I was one tired Sookie.

Eric grinned and hoarsely said, "I don't know what wowza means, but okay."

I smiled, but then I noticed that Eric was still hard. "Um…Eric…what about that?"

Eric didn't need to see where my hand gestured to know what I was talking about. "I don't want to risk doing anything here…got a freezer?" I laughed, amazed that he was able to make a joke out of this situation.

"Yeah, we _are_ at a restaurant, you know. It's right over there," I said, surprised that when I had jokingly started moving towards it, Eric had seriously followed me.

"Um, okay, here it is..." I murmured as I opened the door. Eric brushed past me and walked right in. To the uninformed bystander it looked like he was simply fascinated by the number of frozen all-beef hamburger patties in the freezer, but he was concentrating on something else. I waited outside to give him some space, because I didn't know what else to do. Soon he was all good and exited the room with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Does that ever get annoying?" I blurted, and Eric stopped walking and burst out laughing.

"Sometimes, like now, yeah…but the reasons why it happens kind of makes it worth it," Eric answered thoughtfully after a moment. He threw an arm around my shoulder and drew me closer to him in a half-hug, kissing the top of my head. "Stackhouse, you're so weird sometimes. I love it."

After a few stolen kisses I forced him to go back outside and enter the building through the regular front entrance so it wouldn't look too suspicious. After he left, I rushed to the bathroom and – yep, just like I thought, my ponytail looked like a bright yellow yield sign from being pinned against the wall. Totally worth it though.

I shrugged and put my hair in a bun, and allowed myself one brief crazy-happy-Sookie smile in the mirror before going into the restaurant.

Everyone cheered when I walked through the door, and I immediately spotted Tara and the rest of the girls crammed into our table by the jukebox. I ran over and hugged everyone, even though I had just done the same exact thing about twenty minutes ago, because we were all so happy. Tara scooted over so I would have some room, and we chatted for about five minutes before I spotted Eric at the bar nursing a beer and talking animatedly with Chow. While I was staring Eric looked over in my direction and did a double-take, smiling widely when he noticed that I was there. He said something to Chow and Chow walked away.

I excused myself and started walking towards Eric, but I only took about three steps before Sam came over and scooped me up in a big hug, even lifting me up from the ground for a bit. He kissed me on the forehead and whispered into my hair, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there, cher, but I am so, so happy for you."

I squeezed him and whispered back, "Don't worry about it, Sam. You worry about everything else for me. And besides, there will be lots of other games and Merlotte's after parties. Count on it."

He smiled before reaching back to the table behind him and surprising me with the biggest Sookie sandwich I had ever seen. I threw my arms up around his neck, careful not to jostle the packed plate, and exclaimed, "Wow, thanks, that's so sweet of you. I don't know how you always know how I played or if the team won, but just keep doing what you're doing because it makes me happy."

"It makes me happy too, cher," Sam replied before stealing a French fry off my plate.

"Hey now, that's not making me happy!" I joked, and Sam laughed and excused himself to work on all of the people waiting for a drink.

I smiled – Sam was such a nice guy, always looking out for me and making sure I was okay. He was a great boss, and an even better friend. I made my way over to Eric, who simply watched me walk towards him.

"Wanna split my Sookie sandwich with me? Sam just made it," I said, taking a seat next to Eric and sliding my plate over.

"Did he? Isn't he _nice_," Eric replied, making "nice" sound like a word you'd use to describe a murderer or a rapist.

I sighed. Eric was going to play that game? Right now, after everything we've been through tonight? "It was just a hug, Eric. Nothing more. I mean, it's just Sam – I've known him forever! He's my boss!"

"Am I 'Just Eric?'" Eric said coldly, still refusing to look at me.

"No, you're MY Eric. Hell, you're THE Eric." He didn't move, still didn't look.

"Look, I don't know why you're choosing to get all pissy on what should be one of the best nights for you, but I want you to stop it right now, mister! You should be celebrating, not crapping on our night. I did nothing wrong, and the only thing I regret is hitting the post on one of my shots during the game! So yeah, I hugged Sam, but I made out with you and I kissed you and I'm sitting here with you, right where I want to be! Plus, I hugged a lot of people tonight, Eric! I hugged Sam and my Gran and Sheriff Dearborn and Maxine Fortenberry and Father O'Malley and practically everyone in this whole damn town with arms – Sam was just one of them! You're the only one I kissed and wanted to impress and just plain old be around! Why can't you see that? Why are you being like this? I've given you no reason to think I'd do something like that, because I won't do something like that," I muttered as angrily as possible into his ear.

After a few moments he turned and finally looked at me, regret colored all over his face. "Shit, you're right, Sookie. I'm sorry I was being an ass and jumped to conclusions. It's just that before you came over Sam was talking about how long he's known you and all of the traditions you guys have and everything he knows about you, and it just made me angry and jealous that your boss knows more about you than I do, that he has more pictures and stories of you than I do. I certainly like being told that and then have to see him kissing and hugging you thirty seconds later. But in my defense, what boss kisses and hugs his employee?"

"Eric, that is so not the point I was trying to make."

He sighed and buried his face in his hands for a couple seconds before coming up for air. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I took it out on you, Sookie. And you're right, you've done nothing wrong and you haven't given me reason to think that you would have."

I reached under the table and held his hand, making sure I moved closer to him so no one would be able to see. "Thank you. And if you think about it, you've only known me for five days and we haven't been able to have a lot of real time together. We'll have our own pictures and stories soon enough. Plus, isn't that what first dates are for? Getting to know the other person?"

He smiled a little and squeezed my hand before murmuring, "Once again, you're right. And once again, I'm sorry for the way I acted. I'm so lucky to have such an understanding girl." He released me and reached over to grab a sandwich half, took a bite, swallowed, and laughed, "Yep, still awesomely bad."

"Uh, I think you meant 'awesomely awesome' but don't worry, I got what you said," I giggled before taking a bite. As I was doing that my eyes flicked over to the doorway and I spit out my food onto the table in reaction to what I saw.

Eric glanced toward me hurriedly and joked, "See, awesomely bad…but seriously, Sookie, you okay?"

I wasn't able to move or talk or think; all I could do was stare at the person who was slowly walking towards me. It was like watching a car crash; you knew it was awful and should look away, but you couldn't help staring at it.

"Sookie! Sookie! Are you choking? Listen, Sookie, look at me, do you need me to do the Heimlich maneuver? 'Cause I can! Sookie – answer me, damnit!"

"Bill," I gasped.

Eric moved towards me and gripped my shoulders, "Bill? What? I'm Eric, Sookie. Eric."

"I do believe she was referring to me," Bill said darkly, stopping directly in front of me. Eric whipped his head around and his expression quickly morphed from concerned to furious as he tried to burn holes in Bill's face with his eyes. Bill was standing calmly, like he was an old buddy of mine who just happened to walk into Merlotte's instead of being my ex-soccer coach who suddenly left the team without an apology or explanation after four years of being my coach. His hair was darker than I remembered, and I was glad to see that it looked like he had bangs, like a twelve-year-old girl. He was wearing khakis and a tan jacket and an evil smirk.

Of course Bill would decide to grace us with his presence after our huge victory tonight, when we were all excited and happy after our win and our new coach and our new team. How dare he! How dare he leave and think he can come back, like we were just a gas station and he could just stop by whenever he wanted or needed something! How dare he come to Merlotte's – _Merlotte's_ – where he knew our big celebration would occur, and just stroll in like he was wanted there! Forget what the fuck – what a fuck!

Eric quickly stood up so that he was towering, literally towering, over Bill, who just looked a dorky pipsqueak when compared with Eric's height and muscles and now-ferocious beauty. Eric moved closer and placed an arm around my shoulder to show that _he_ was my coach now, that Bill was gone and replaced and didn't have the right to waltz back into our lives as soon as we moved on.

In a menacingly deeper voice, Eric growled, "Bill Compton. I've heard all about you, you know. And before you ask, nothing good. Nothing good at all. Nevertheless, I've been looking forward to meeting you. You see, I've always wondered what it'd be like to gaze into the eyes of someone so devoid of human compassion and intelligence that he would abandon his team when they needed him the most. And now that I can put a face to the bastard, I must say I'm disappointed."

A hush swept over the restaurant, and the bar laughter and chitchat vaporized. Even the jukebox was silent. I looked around and everyone was staring at us: Sam had stopped wiping a glass behind the bar and was now glaring at Bill, Maxine Fortenberry was gaping with her fork still halfway to her mouth, and the team was walking over to where I was sitting and Eric and Bill were standing. If this was a cowboy movie instead of my life and we were in a dusty saloon instead of a dusty bar and grille, right now would have been the time where the crazy "wah nah nah now" sound would play as the good-guy sheriff and the bad-guy train robber squared off.

Bill opened his mouth to respond, but I cut in before any words could come out. I didn't want to hear his excuses. I was past that stage now, and I just wanted to be rid of him. And nothing he could say to me would change my mind.

"Bill Compton, who the fuck do you think you are? You are dead to me. You are dead to me and this team and this town and this restaurant. Your presence is neither wanted nor required, both in this restaurant and in my life, so just leave. Get. Out. Now," I hissed, surprised at my reaction to seeing him. I didn't think, I just said, and boy did it feel good.

Bill looked like I slapped him, and that made me wish I actually had slapped him just so I could see what he'd look like then. I heard Eric chuckle softly, and I could feel the comforting sensation of his thumb drawing small circles on my shoulder. I felt another hand snake around my hips, and looked to my left and saw Amelia standing next to me, with the rest of the team forming a circle around us.

"Nope, hold up a sec before you do. You're not the only one who wants to say something to the famous Mr. Compton, Sooks. We've been waiting for this for a long time," Tara snapped, getting right into Bill's personal bubble and pointing a finger in his face. "I'm only going to say this once, guy, 'cause this is the last time I'm ever going to see you, so you better pay attention. If I called you every cuss word that I know – and you can bet your gay little safari outfit that I know quite a lot – that wouldn't be enough to show just how much of an ugly monster you are behind your 'awh, shucks, ma'am, you sure do have the best lemonade, golly gee' fucking Southern gentleman fucking façade. I don't know why you decided to leave and I really don't give a fuck, even if President Obama called you on your stupid cell phone that you can't even text on and said it was a matter of national security that you leave Bon Temps."

Someone let out a low, appreciative whistle, and Tara stepped back and smirked, putting her hands on her hips in a defiant pose.

"You're lower than a snake's belly, Bill Compton, and I'm disgusted that I once respected you," Amelia piped in. I placed an arm around her shoulder and squeezed hard. Other girls murmured their approval.

Bill cleared his throat and started loudly, "I just came here to congratulate y'all on your big win, but I must say that I didn't think I'd have to stop by Merlotte's tonight because I didn't think there'd be a celebration, given your history with Shreveport and this new guy's penchant for getting his ass kicked, or should I say knee kicked, by Edgington. I actually came here to say –"

"Just save it, Bill. No one wants to hear your excuses. And no one wants you here. Hell, I'm not even on the team and I still don't want you here. Get out of my bar, and if you need any help with that, my fists and I would be more than happy to accompany you out the door," Sam threatened; somehow during Tara and Amelia's burns he had walked over to where we were. And even though he was separated from us by the bar top, he still looked like he could hurt Bill.

"As would I," Eric said, releasing my shoulder and taking a step forward. For Bill, even one step was a step too many, and he unconsciously stepped backwards. "You are a fool for willingly leaving this fantastic, hardworking team and the supportive community that it represents. You can spout all the pretty words you know or think you know, but I'm going to be cliché for a moment here and say that actions speak louder than words. After all, you didn't _have_ to drive here and watch the team that you're no longer the coach of. You didn't _have_ to come to Merlotte's for the after party that you knew you weren't invited to – no, you did not. And the girls didn't take a road trip and visit you in whatever hell-hole you moved to, now did they? And I didn't look your number up and call you for coaching tips, now did I? And Sam didn't e-mail you to see if you needed any nachos or buffalo wings, now did he? No. And why is that? Because you're not wanted here. You're not needed here. So tell me, Billy boy, what the _fuck_ are you still doing here?"

As Eric was verbally kicking Bill's ass, he had slowly been taking baby steps, but very menacing baby steps mind you, towards Bill, and like before Bill was wisely moving backwards. With a sweeping glare and a muttered "I don't need this," Bill huffed and turned and walked out the door. The second he was gone, the whole restaurant exploded in cheers and cat calls, and people came up and started buying Eric drinks and the rest of us sodas and lemonades.

"That just happened. _Hells yeah_, that just happened!" Tara shouted.

"That was pretty fucking ninja," Eric added, high-fiving all of us.

For a good ten minutes afterwards, we all took up major bar real estate and talked about what, as Tara so eloquently described, "just happened." As time went on, the girls started drifting away, one by one, like whisper-thin dandelion seeds in the wind, and soon it was just me and Eric.

"Okay then, I'm gonna go socialize so people don't think I'm dating you or something," I joked after a particularly long conversation with Eric about what _The Jersey Shore_ would be like if it actually took place in Bon Temps. We had both agreed that Ginger would probably be Snookie, and I said that Quinn, whom Eric had heard of but hadn't actually met, would totally be The Situation. Eric had almost hacked up a lung laughing when I went on a little tirade fuming that Snookie was making it difficult for me to like my own nickname.

"Ah, yes, wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" Eric answered just as smoothly. "I'll come find you when I want to show off my sweet dance moves."

"Please do so I can fetch Sam's video camera," I replied, moving to get out of my seat.

Just then, I was hugged from behind, and I could smell the odd combination of tequila, limes and my brother's cologne. I stopped and Jason let go to throw an arm around my shoulder and turn me around to face the eating area He yelled, "Listen up people, let's give it up for Sookie! Yeah!"

The whole bar erupted in cheers and claps, and Jason beamed down on me. Poor Jason; he was way more than a little tipsy and probably thought he was being the best big brother of all time, but I would have appreciated it more if he chose to get all brotherly at a time when I wasn't flirting with my secret boyfriend.

"All right, y'all, quiet down a sec, c'mon now, I've got something I wanna say," Jason continued. After the crowd hushed up, he said, "Now, I just wanted to make everyone know just how proud I am of my Sooks, I've known and loved her forever and that's why I know she really deserved everything she got tonight. So congrats, Sookie! Congrats, Sookie's teammates! And congrats, Jose Cuervo, for having the best goddamn tequila in the entire tequila-drinkin' free world! WOOOOOHIE!"

As everyone laughed and cheered, Jason bent down and sloppily gave me a kiss on the cheek before squeezing my shoulders and fumbling over to his sometime fuck buddy Crystal Norris, who was gazing up at him all starry-eyed like he just finished wrapping up his Oscar acceptance speech. Ah, young love.

After Jason's impromptu address, a crowd of friends and neighbors came up to congratulate me and chat a bit. Although I laughed and talked and hugged, I always kept an eye on Eric, who had drifted over to the other side of the bar and was now shaking a lot of hands and making small talk. During a quiet spell, Eric walked over and loudly asked if, since I worked here, I could show him where the bathroom was. I agreed, and together we walked back to the bathrooms.

"So do you see where I'm coming from? You seem to be in the habit of having random guys come up and kiss you. I mean, you should be in a perfume commercial or something, because AXE has nothing on you," Eric joked.

"Eric, that was just my big brother Jason. You'll have to meet him sometime when he isn't acting like a contestant on _Rock of Love_."

"Yeah, I know, I recognized him from the pictures in your house."

"Oh, so _that's_ why you didn't go all caveman and hit him over the head with your club."

"Precisely," Eric said as we finally made it to bathrooms. He turned and grinned at me before walking into the men's room. Oh – he really did have to go to the bathroom. I though he just wanted some 1 v. 1 time with me.

Before the door even closed all of the way Eric pushed it open again and extended a hand out for me. He made a "come hither" motion with his fingers, and when he didn't feel me hold his hand he peeked out and said, "Well, come on!"

"Eric, it's the men's room!"

"Fine, we can just go in the women's room."

"No, I meant, it's the men's room! Like, it's not the employee entrance or the freezer, it's somewhere where anyone – well, okay, any _man_ – can walk in on us!"

Eric pouted and mock-whined, "God, Stackhouse, all I wanted to do was have someone talk to me while I went to the bathroom! I get so lonely in there!"

I tried my hardest not to snicker, but with a line like that it was inevitable. "Just go in there and return the beer you rented this evening. I'll be right here, I promise."

Eric laughed and closed the door. About twenty seconds later Andy Bellefleur walked into the men's bathroom after giving me a suspicious look. Eric exited soon afterwards looking very sheepish.

"Stackhouse: 1. Northman: 0," he muttered.

"And don't you forget it!" I replied, not really knowing what else to say without saying "I told you so."

"Hey, speaking of not forgetting, your soccer bag is in my car."

"Yup."

"And I drove you here tonight."

"Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. But more importantly, you don't have a ride home…if you wanted to go home, that is."

"Well, usually I sleep over at someone's house, like Amelia's, but…" I trailed off. We both knew what was going to happen, and we both wanted it to happen, but neither one of us wanted to make the first move.

"But what?"

"Oh, fine, I'll cave. Eric, I would like it very much if my soccer bag remained in your car for the rest of tonight…and tomorrow morning."

"God, Sookie, I thought you'd never ask."

"Well, technically I didn't." _HAH – I still win because I didn't come out and say it. Nah nah nah nah nah nah._

"Whatever, it works for me. I would love to take you home with me."

We smiled and started walking back to the bar.

"Wait a sec, didn't you say that you were sleeping on Pam's couch? And that you were crashing in her apartment?" I asked. If Pam was going to be there, that'd be a little awkward.

"Yeah, up until two days ago I was. A condo went up for sale in a development across the street from Pam's, and I'm the new tenet. I moved all of my stuff there yesterday and took out my furniture from storage, so there's fresh food in the fridge and clean sheets on the bed and there's even a balcony."

"I can't wait to see it," I said, "but first, I believe you owe the team a dance."

"Oh, do I?" Eric joked, poking me in the ribs. "I didn't sign up for that. YOU were the one who volunteered my dancing skills. So I believe you owe _me_ a dance."

"Deal."

"Great. Now, I'll go back in the bar, so count to like a hundred or something before coming out, okay?"

I nodded, and Eric bent down and kissed me on the cheek before walking through the door. By the time I walked in, he already had half the team pushing some tables and chairs to the side of the room for maximum dancing space, and the other half picking out songs on the jukebox. He must not have been thinking clearly when he assigned Amelia to the song-choosing committee; I shook my head thinking of all of the sexually charged songs Amelia was going to pick.

The opening beats of "Sandstorm," the techno dance anthem that was a guaranteed staple at our dance parties, made themselves known over the bar chitchat and, miraculously, the combination of about twenty hyper teenage girls screaming excitedly. We all flocked to the makeshift dance floor and began dancing and pogo-ing. Everyone except for Eric, who had moved over to the bar and was standing next to Chow with his back mostly to us, like he didn't want to get caught. I half-expected him to pull out a newspaper and shove it over his face while whistling.

I nudged Amelia, which was a pretty hard feat to do considering she apparently thought that octopuses were terrific dancers and was currently flailing her arms in the air, and nodded over in Eric's direction.

"Oh, hell no!" Amelia screeched, and she began poking other girls and nodding towards Eric. Once everyone figured out that Eric wasn't on the makeshift dance floor, we stopped moving for a few seconds – and that just shows how badly everyone wanted Eric to dance with us –to decide what to do next.

"I vote for Sookie to talk to him, she's probably his favorite person after the goal she made tonight," Tara shouted. _Sure, of course that's why…_

The rest of the team agreed, so I forced my way through the mosh pit and twirled my way over to where Eric was.

"C'mon, Northman, man up!" I cried as soon as I reached him.

"Stackhouse, I think that's the opposite of what I have to do if you want me to dance," he grumbled. I responded by grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the dance floor, and when I turned around to make sure he was actually going to follow through with his promise I saw that Chow was coming over as well. I guess Eric talked him into doing it, and although I wouldn't be as excited to see Chow moving his hips as some other girls, I was glad he was coming too.

Eric kind of stayed towards the outside of the mosh pit, and I could tell he felt a little awkward because he was a twenty-something soccer coach dancing with his teenage girl players. After some more songs came on – "What is Love?" and "You Spin Me Round (Like A Record Player)" – that weren't overtly sexual or explicit, he loosened up. Amelia actually did a decent job playing DJ, and everyone was dancing and having a good time. During "Love Is A Battlefield," I actually had to stop and stand still for a moment because I was laughing so hard; when I did my signature Molly Ringwald-Breakfast Club dance, Eric goofily copied my moves when he thought no one was looking. It was, without a doubt, the funniest thing I've ever had the fortune of seeing. I wished I actually had grabbed Sam's video camera.

I was getting pretty tired, so I took a break and went over to the bar for a glass of water. Since most people were either dancing or watching the dancers, Sam came around the bar and stood next to me as we people-watched. He commented on how friendly Eric seemed to be with the team, and he had shot me a look when he said that, but other than that we just talked about small things.

Then "Party in the USA" came on, and a lot of people came laughing off the dance floor, so Sam had to get back to work. Eric was one of the wise folks that evacuated the area, and he cocked his head towards the bathrooms and strolled back there.

I waited about thirty seconds, and then I excused myself from the group of girls I was talking with and also walked to the bathrooms. Or, at least I tried to until someone reached out and pulled me into the deserted employee room.

The lights were off and I couldn't see anyone, but I was about 98% sure that Eric was the mastermind behind all of this. Or else Jason was really drunk and mistook me for one of his bimbo blonde fuck buddies.

All of a sudden I sensed a presence in front of me, and as I opened my mouth to ask who was there I was silenced by the feel of two very familiar lips on mine. I blindly reached out to where I thought I remembered Eric's longish hair being, and was relieved when I felt some strands. After that, I hungrily returned the kiss, biting and nipping. I remembered the last time I was in this room with Eric, and how innocently we had behaved compared to what we were doing now.

I needed to catch my breath, so I ended the kiss and snuggled up against Eric's strong chest. "Jason," I breathed dreamily, and I felt the muscles in Eric's wall tense. Biting back a laugh, I kissed the spot where his neck connected to his shoulder and whispered, "Just kidding…Sam." Then I kissed my way up Eric's neck and when I reached his mouth I murmured, "Kiss me, Eric."

And kiss me he did.

After a while, he pulled back and whispered, "That was fantastic, cher." I froze – shit, had I really miscalculated the length of Sam's hair? Did I just make out with my boss? A loud snort confirmed that it was in fact Eric, but at this point I was so confused I had to make sure it was him. I fumbled and groped for the light switch that I knew was someone near me, to the left of the door. Once I found it, I eagerly flicked it on and whipped my head around – Eric had his hands on his hips and looked so smug it should have been illegal.

"Wanna get outta here?" I asked. As much as it was fun celebrating, I was kinda over it.

"Sure," Eric agreed, "You go out and say your goodbyes, and I'll leave now through the employee exit. I'll be waiting in the car."

One long kiss later, I watched Eric and his exquisite behind glide out the back door and then walked into the bar. I said my goodbyes and did some hugging, and then waved to Sam as I left through the front entrance. I looked around the parking lot and didn't see anyone, so I jogged to Eric's car and got in.

"You're okay to drive, right?" I asked nervously.

"Stackhouse, I'm 6'4" and weigh about 180 pounds. And I really didn't drink that much tonight, just three beers and we were there for three hours. But it was good of you to check anyways," Eric said, reaching over to hold my hand. "I like that you're so responsible."

"Good, 'cause no offense, you drive like a drunk driver even when you're sober – I mean, right now you're going like seventy miles per hour!!"

"Yeah, I know, I drive slower when you're in the car," Eric chuckled, but after I shot him a look he lowered it down to sixty, which was fine with me.

For the rest of the drive, we sat in comfortable silence; even though it was only about 10 o'clock, I was really tired, but I didn't want to fall asleep on Eric and miss the rest of the night.

Nevertheless I did doze off. I opened my eyes to find Eric leaning over my car door, peering down on me with a small smile on his face. He looked like he was going to scoop my formerly sleeping body up and carry me.

"Hey you," he whispered.

"Hey," I whispered back, "where are we?"

"We're at my apartment. You've been out for like fifteen minutes."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Anyways, can you walk or do you want a lift in?"

"I can walk," I answered, and he offered a hand, which I accepted as gracefully as someone who just woke up could.

I rubbed my eyes and looked at Eric's apartment building. I would have thought it was a fancy hotel, with its large glass windows and smooth brick exterior. It was tall, like a city building, and it had beautiful landscaping, with lots of trees and flowers and impeccably cut grass. If I had to pick a condo to live in, I'd probably choose one that looked a lot like Eric's.

"Do you need your soccer bag?" Eric said, interrupting me from my thoughts. He had moved to the back of the car to pop the trunk and was now holding my bag up.

"Um…yeah, probably," I said, walking over and reaching out to grab it. It had my phone in it, and that'd be useful to have with me. Eric pulled the bag away from me and put it on his back.

"I've got it. You just focus on not falling asleep while walking," he replied cheerfully. He closed the trunk and motioned for us to start walking towards the building. It even had a lobby in it, like a real hotel, and it was furnished just as nicely. Eric walked over to the elevator, and I followed; he pressed the top floor button and we rode up the elevator.

Instead of opening up to reveal a carpet-lined hallway, the first thing I saw when the doors moved aside was that we were in what looked like someone's apartment. Eric walked into it and placed my bag on the ground and his keys on the small table positioned right next to the elevator for that purpose.

"Chez Northman," he said, opening his arms up wide.

"More like Castle Northman. This is…this is amazing!"

"I know, thank Tandkräm."

"Thank what? Is that Swedish for 'God?'"

He laughed, "It's this Swedish toothpaste company that I've had a modeling contract with since I was eighteen."

"Oh. Thank Tandkräm!" I laughed as well, even though I really wanted to hit my head on the pristine cream-colored wall.

"I'm glad you like it. But like I said, I just moved in, so it's not completely finished. You'll have to excuse the mess."

I made a noncommittal noise and continued to gape at the apartment.

"You know what, Stackhouse?"

"What?"

"You never gave me a dance," Eric said with a smirk and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. I tore my eyes away from Eric's kitchen and stared at him.

Gulp. We weren't at a dance club or even a place with a dance floor; we were just at Eric's apartment. What, did he want me to jump up on his dining room table and start shake-shake-shaking my booty or do a little strip-tease?

Seeing my thunderstruck face, Eric chuckled and picked up his iPod from the table and held an ear bud out for me. I accepted it and plugged it in, still not knowing what Eric was going to do next. Did he expect me to dance all around his apartment like I was in my very own iPod commercial?

He popped the other speaker in his ear, and, after a few brief seconds of anticipation-filled silence, "Wild Horses" began playing. Eric carefully tucked the iPod in his jeans pocket, and gently placed one hand over my lower back, drawing me closer to him so that he could take my left hand with his. Not knowing what to do with my Eric-free hand, I placed it on his shoulder.

_Graceless lady, you know how I am  
You know I can't let you slide through my hands  
Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away_

"Now you're dancing," Eric murmured. But it didn't feel like that to me; Eric was leading us around his apartment, making the first move and having me follow. I felt like I was just snuggling with him standing up, and it was delicious. I laid my cheek on his chest and he tucked my head under his chin, the ends of his hair tickling my forehead. I inhaled and smelled everything I knew about Eric, briefly closing my eyes like that would help me hold on to this memory forever.

_I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie  
I have my freedom, but I don't have much time  
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried  
Let's do some living after love dies  
Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day_

"So this is the living room," Eric whispered into my hair, and I popped my eyes open. Like everything else in his apartment, it was pretty sparse – no photographs on the cream-colored wall, no rugs on the floor. He had a brown leather couch and two brown leather armchairs placed facing the widescreen TV hanging on the wall, and underneath it there were two cardboard boxes labeled "DVDs." The walls of both sides of the room were protected by tall wooden bookshelves, and there were more boxes with "Books" and "Music" scrawled on the sides.

He waltzed me over to the kitchen, then to the study, then to the bathroom, his bedroom, and ended up on the balcony. From what I could see underneath the soft hat that was Eric's chin, each room was the same, equipped with the bare necessities but teeming with cardboard boxes. Even so, the apartment was beautiful, with spacious rooms and shining tiled or wooden floors. The parts of it that were furnished, however, looked masculine and decidedly Eric-like.

The song ended, and Eric had to let go of me to reach down for the iPod. "Any requests?"

I shook my head. "You choose."

"I'll just let it play the rest of the Stones out," he said, putting the iPod away. Just then, the familiar opening of "Let's Spend the Night Together" flooded into my ears, and I looked at Eric and laughed.

"Subtle," I said, and Eric sheepishly smiled before protesting, "IPod shuffle – I swear! Although you have to admit, it sure is a strange coincidence."

"Surrre," I retorted, turning my head up to look at the moon and stars shining in the sky. Eric followed my gaze and threw his head back to see what I was looking at.

"Back in Sweden, during the winter, it's dark all of the time, for most of the day and all of the night. The only natural light is provided by the moon and the stars. I used to go outside, not even caring about the freezing temperature, and just look up at the sky and think about how many other people must have seen the same thing I was looking at," Eric offered.

"It's comforting yet alarming at the same time, isn't it? They look so small to us, but just looking at them makes us feel so small," I responded, leaning my back against Eric's chest. He slipped his hands around my waist and folded his hands across my stomach. I felt him kiss my shoulder and I shivered.

"Are you cold?" Eric murmured, kissing my goose bumps.

"It's fine, really. You're keeping me warm," I murmured back, not wanting to move from my spot.

"Don't be silly. We can go back in and warm up. There are blankets and Pam brought over an espresso maker as a housewarming gift and – oh shit, we haven't showered since the game."

Despite my protests, Eric led me back inside to the kitchen. The aforementioned espresso machine was still in its box and was sitting on the counter, and Eric couldn't seem to figure out how to get it working – "The buttons are too damn small! It's like they expect children to be making coffee!"

I laughed at the sight of this Viking-esque man struggling to turn on a coffee maker, and he narrowed his eyes at me. Clearly he couldn't find the humor in the situation like I could.

"Listen, why don't you take a shower and I'll get the coffee ready, okay? Sam has an espresso maker just like this one, so I'm sure I'll get it working. Go on now," I said, gently pushing him in the direction of where I thought the bathroom was (I was a little distracted during Eric's creative house tour, sue me).

"Are you sure? I mean, you're the one who actually played soccer tonight," he said.

"I'm sure. Hurry up though." After I said that he bent down and gave me a searing kiss that was deliciously long, hot, and slow.

"That should keep you warm," he murmured, pulling away and running a finger over my lips before walking to the bathroom. "Feel free to look around, go wherever you want. Me casa es tu casa and all that."

As I stood dumbfounded in the kitchen, wondering what I had done in my past life to deserve such a nice guy, I heard the water of Eric's shower start running. Oh boy. Eric was naked and I was in his apartment. Now I was definitely frozen in place.

I shook my head and forced myself to pay attention to the diagrams and small typed font of the instruction manual. After a few minutes a light flicked on the machine and the smell of coffee shook me out my reverie. While I waited, I took out my cell phone from my soccer bag and left Gran a voicemail saying that I was sleeping over at Amelia's house and that I didn't know when I'd be home but I had my cell with me. As soon as I hung up the espresso machine beeped and I poured myself a small amount in one of the two mugs that Eric had thoughtfully taken out before he showered. I took a sip of espresso to test it…and then another…and then another…

Explorer Sookie came out to play, and I wandered over to the living room, figuring I'd just watch some television while I waited. Some mindless game show came on, and I tried to pay attention to it but couldn't keep my mind off of Eric in the shower. Soon the water stopped. I threw my head back and yawned, even stretching my arms over my head. My yawn became a yelp as I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Eric walking down the hallway, clad only in a white towel. He didn't notice, thankfully, and disappeared into his bedroom.

Now that I knew he was out of the bathroom, I snuck in there to pee, something I had wanted to do since I drank all that espresso and drinks from before at Merlotte's. Once I was done, I opened the door and halted mid-stride.

From my vantage point in the doorway I could see into Eric's bedroom. He had left the door open and was currently standing with his back to me, his towel off. He was pulling on a pair of jeans, and he hadn't bothered with underwear or a shirt. I unconsciously took a couple steps forward, drawn to Eric's perfection like an art collector to a particularly fascinating painting.

"Sookie, are you all right?"

I popped open my eyes and saw myself face-to-chest with Eric, his pencil eraser-like nipples begging me to reach out and touch them. He was standing in front of me, and he put his warm, large hands on my shoulders to steady me. I looked up into his eyes, which were trained on me and apparently filled with nothing but concern and confusion.

"Sorry," I whispered, "I didn't mean to intrude…I was just leaving the bathroom. You know what, I think I'll take my shower now."

He nodded and let go. I took a couple steps back and shut the door in his face and rested my forehead on the hard wood. How stupider could I have looked right then?

I furiously shucked off my clothes and threw them on the floor, not caring where they ended up. I stormed into the shower and turned the water on, choosing to forgo the more traditional cold water for a steamy shower.

I heard the door open softly and I ignored it, figuring it was just Eric giving me some clothes and a towel, necessary items I had carelessly forgotten in my haste to remove myself from that embarrassingly awkward situation.

"I'd like to do that," Eric murmured, pulling back the curtain to step in the shower with me.

I gasped, just short of a shriek. He had discarded the jeans and was standing in front of me, as naked as I was. My eyes hungrily scanned his body, stopping at the one part of him I had become acquainted with but never officially met. I didn't exactly have anything to compare it with, but I could tell he was huge.

"Is this okay? Am I going too fast?" Eric asked, one foot in the shower. He looked at me, waiting for my approval.

I nodded my head, unable to speak. I was embarrassed and terrified, and yet I wanted this despite everything I did and did not know about sex. He took another step in, taking the lemon verbena body wash out of my hands as he did so. He lathered his own and set the container back in his niche. I stared as he began to wash my arms, raising each in turn to stroke my armpit without touching my breasts like I desperately wanted to. I was too enveloped in the senses he was evoking to worry about any lingering odor or armpit air. This was Eric, my Eric, after all.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, moving one hand in a circular motion over my stomach. "Turn around, lover."

He massaged my back and shoulders, kneading the tension and anxiousness out of my system. His fingers were very long and talented, and I soon had the most relaxed and cleanest set of shoulder blades in all of Louisiana.

But my shoulder blades were probably the only body part of mine that was relaxed. My brain kept thinking at warp-speed, like I was taking a timed test and was trying to think of the answers. Was I really going to through with this? Have sex with Eric? No matter how much I wanted it, I was terrified. What if I embarrassed myself? What if I didn't make it enjoyable? I had no idea what to do. I had no idea how to act. I had no idea what I was supposed to look like – I didn't even know if I did enough landscaping down there! This was like getting my driver's permit and finding out I was given a brand-new Ferrari to practice on.

As worried as I was, I didn't want Eric to stop touching me and get out of the shower. I burned under his fingertips. I didn't want him to ever stop doing what he was doing. He was all I could think about. I wanted my mind to switch off and my body to take over.

That happened when I felt a very large part of Eric pressed against my back. Last time I checked, he wasn't standing that close to me. Yikes. Yahoo. Yum.

He shampooed my hair next. "Are you frightened because of me?" he asked, stopping to disentangle his hands and take a step back from me. I shuddered at the loss of feeling him.

I considered that. Yes and no, really, but I didn't want to stand here and debate the pros and cons with him when we could be doing other stuff. Besides, the inner debate was hard enough. Yeah, I knew that if I did what I wanted to do I'd be going against my Gran's morals by having premarital sex. I knew that if I did what I wanted to do, I didn't have birth control pills, but surely Eric had condoms, if my brother had taught me anything about what guys are like.

Thinking about Jason and Gran right now was too much. But to hell with thinking, I wanted to be feeling. And I definitely wanted to be feeling Eric.

I grabbed the body wash and lathered my hands up like Eric had. I turned around and stepped even closer to him. Awkwardly folding Mr. Happy up against Eric's stomach, I reached around and touched that award-winning butt like I had wanted to ever since I first saw it. I couldn't look at him in the face, but he let me know he was enjoying this and enjoyed that I was responding to him.

He spread his legs obligingly and I washed him, trying to mimic his motions as he had washed me. I had liked that enough, and I hoped he would too. He began to make little noises, to rock forward. Thinking that he was subtly asking me to move on, I slid my fingers to his chest and began washing him, doing to him what I had wished I could have been doing all of the other times I had seen him without a shirt on. I traced the outlines of his muscles and sucked his right nipple, surprising both of us. He liked that a lot, I noted, because after that he traced his hands over any part of me that he could find and started making more little noises.

After a while he decided to reciprocate, and he bent down. When his mouth closed over my breast, I moaned even louder. I felt his fingers dance down my stomach, literally going into no-man's land. He knew exactly where and what to touch. He had long fingers. I moaned again and bucked my hips without realizing it. He was touching me in ways I didn't know I could be touched, ways I never even thought about doing to myself. I wanted more. I wanted more than his long fingers.

Once he finished and I was able to think somewhat clearly again after coming down from my very first orgasm, the water was off and he was softly rubbing me with a fluffy white towel. I spied one on the nearby sink and started drying him off too. After we finished he picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him. He walked me into his bedroom, seeing with his hands because he was too busy kissing my face off, and gently placed me down on the bed.

He disappeared then for a second, and I whimpered. I heard the crinkling of foil to my right and I followed the sound; Eric had torn off a condom wrapper and was putting it on. Once he was finished, he came back over and kissed me, his hands roaming my body like they had in the shower. I could feel him pressing into my thigh.

I hesitatingly reached down and stroked. He hissed in my mouth. I quickly dropped my hand, thinking I had did something wrong, and he arranged himself at my wet center, rubbing the tip of him with my nub as he did so. He slid his fingers down again, and I impatiently wondered if he was going to do that again when I wanted something bigger – much bigger – inside me. It still felt fantastic, what he was doing.

I was so on fire for him that I thought I was going to burst into flames. I wanted him, and I wanted him now. He had stopped moving, wanting to make sure I was okay with this. I nodded, and he warned, "This might hurt at first."

"You'll make it better though, right?" I questioned, rubbing my hands up and down his sides.

He kissed his way up to my face. "Yes, yes I will, lover."

"Show me," I whispered.

"My lover," he said hoarsely, and pressed in. It was the sexiest thing he could have said to me; I thought I would orgasm just at the sound of it.

A slight pain overcame me for a couple seconds, and though I thought I had prepared myself I cried out with the shock of it. Eric grunted. But after a few moments it was like he said, and he made it all better. With the stuff he was doing and the way it was making me feel, I soon forgot all about the initial throbbing.

"Is it good for you, lover?" Eric asked in that same ragged voice. I nodded, too frenzied to form complete sentences.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, and I did. "Look at me."

"God, Eric, don't stop," I cried out. He increased his pace. I felt some pressure building down below me. It felt like what I had felt in the shower, but only more delicious and intense. It kept rising and rising, and based on what I'd read in the romance books I thought I was reaching my Moment. "Eric, Eric, OH MY GOD ERIC."

My thoughts were confirmed a few seconds later. I was floating on the most powerful wave of pleasure I had ever experienced. My hands curled around the sheets and I felt like I was floating and needed to stay grounded. I did notice that Eric roared my name as I felt him release. He closed his eyes and collapsed on top of me, panting on my breasts. After a couple minutes he peered down, his forehead now resting against mine. I raised my mouth and kissed him, trying to put everything I had just experienced into my kiss.

"You were superb, lover," he whispered.

"Really?" I asked. I wasn't digging for a compliment – I literally had no idea if what I did was right.

"Really really," he chuckled. He got up and threw the used condom in the trash, and then came back to bed. We lay facing each other, with our heads propped up with our hands.

"If I had known sex with you was that good, I wouldn't have let you go in the shower all alone," I murmured, wanting to reciprocate his compliments. He laughed heartily and bent down for another kiss.

We kissed some more and then talked a little bit. For whatever reason, I remembered the espresso I had made. I told Eric, and he feigned shock before chuckling and kissing my forehead.

"I think we found our own way to warm up, don't you?" Eric muttered.

I leaned over and traced his jaw line, loving the contrast between the softness of his body and the scruffiness of his face. "I'd take you over espresso any day."

"Extra grande cup of Northman made especially for Sookie Stackhouse coming up," he whispered as he kissed his way down my face. I laughed at the imagery his statement evoked.

"With lots of whipped cream," I added, reminded of when he visited me at work and how I had thanked him.

"Yes, lots and lots of whipped cream."

We whispered and complimented, and the last lucid thing I had before I went to sleep was that I had scored in more ways than one that evening.

* * *

Ahh? I have one thing to say: review! Please and Thank You.

Also, check out my newest story, _**Dead To My World**_. It's about what would happen if Hallow cursed Eric so that he lost his memory and ended up meeting Sookie while running down Hummingbird Road…but she had never met him or Bill or any other vampire before? (It takes place a year after the Great Revelation, not two years like in SVM). I'm already excited about all the possibilities.

So please check it out, readers!!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **

***coughs* soooo … sorry about the lack of Score! posting in quite some time. *smiles awkwardly* Just got caught up in working on my other story, plus real life's always there. If you're still sticking with this little fic, thank you. *hugs***

**Thank you to chiisai-kitty for figuratively holding my hand for this chapter and beta-ing for me. *hugs five times* At the risk of sounding much more ghetto than I really am, you da bomb!**

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

**SPOV**

I opened my eyes and saw white. The harsh sunlight beat down on me through the curtain-free windows. Even though the sky was blue and the sun was shining, I didn't feel my mood improve at the sight like I normally would. I realized that I was in an unfamiliar-looking room, with lots of cardboard boxes, almost no furniture or rugs, and bare white walls. Gatorade bottles littered the floor. A laptop was sulking moodily in the corner. Two soggy white towels were balled up near the bed.

I blinked.

A soft snore came from my shoulder. I hesitantly peered down and saw Eric fast asleep, using my body as a pillow. He was facing me with an arm thrown lazily around my stomach and a leg in between mine. He was naked. I was naked too. Although he was sleeping, a large part of him was very much awake, I could tell.

I blinked again.

I slowly disentangled myself from the bed and the spider-monkey that Eric apparently morphed into whilst sleeping, and quietly tip-toed out of Eric's bedroom into what I remembered as the hall leading to the bathroom. I spied a used condom crumpled up in the trashcan and picked up my pace.

I made it to the bathroom and closed the door as softly but as quickly as I could manage, breathing a deep sigh of self-congratulatory relief. Once I turned around I examined the shower curtain barely hanging on to the shower it was supposed to be covering. I took a step forward in disbelief—how did that happen?—and stepped on something wet and squishy: my white cotton panties. I looked around and found my sports bra, Eric's sweatshirt, and my shorts sprinkled haphazardly on the cold tiled floor, each looking as sad and wrinkled as the next. A shampoo bottle was in the sink. A green toothbrush was in the shower. The toilet paper was dipping in the toilet seat.

I rubbed my eyes.

I decided it would be better if I stopped overanalyzing and freaking myself out and just went to the bathroom like I originally planned on doing before I entered this toiletry war zone. I did my business and tried not to think about how sore I was or that there was a little speck of dried blood on the inside of my thigh.

I felt like mold.

I bent down and picked up my soggy clothing, gloomily reflecting that they would be impossible to wear unless Eric had a washer and dryer hidden in his palace. At this point, I would have been happy drying the clothes with a hair dryer. I covered myself with my clothes, trying not to have them touch the skin that they were supposed to be hiding, and snuck back into Eric's room. He was still dozing, thank God, with his hand lying dumbly on top of the sheets that I had been sleeping under.

Looking around, I didn't see a bureau or shelves that could be holding Eric's clothes. I opened the closet door, halting when it made a creaking noise and whipping my head around to see if the sound woke Eric up (which it didn't, thankfully) and continued opening it. Hanging up were pants and blazers and button-down shirts, all of which I couldn't wear. I just needed a pair of boxers or shorts or sweatpants and a tee-shirt!

Cursing under my breath, I peered around the room, pumping my fist when I saw a cardboard box labeled "sleep." Already smiling in anticipation, I opened it and saw … more sheets and pillow covers. Damn! I opened the next box—picture frames and posters. As tempted as I was to peek at them, I had to finish my task of finding suitable clothes to cover my nakedness.

I heard a noise from behind me and fearfully turned around again, expecting to see that Sleeping Beauty finally woke up. A glance confirmed he had just moved and was now clutching my pillow. Fine by me. I glanced at the clock plugged in next to his side of the bed. It read 7:43. No wonder he was still sleeping.

I opened the next box and almost cheered before I remembered I couldn't wake Eric up. A friendly looking pair of blue plaid boxers greeted me, and I scooped them up eagerly. After some poking around I found a white tank top stuffed in with what looked like the Gap's entire section of boxers. I quickly scurried back to the bathroom to put the makeshift clothes on.

Mission accomplished. I wandered into the kitchen, smiling faintly when I saw the espresso machine. It was still holding the forgotten espresso, and I poured myself a cup of java, wincing at the bitterness. Oh well, I needed caffeine more than I needed a decent cup of coffee.

Feeling semi-conscious, I made my way out to the balcony to do some serious reflecting. If this was a movie, this would be where a montage of me staring moodily into the distance and propping my chin in my elbows placed on the railing would be showing, with some soul-searching music playing the background to highlight the range of emotions sweeping across my face: bewilderment, worry, fear, nervousness … and also secret joy, happiness, satisfaction, and serenity. To say I was conflicted was only scratching the surface. It seemed that for every good reaction I had about Eric, about what happened last night, there was a bad counterpart that made me second-guess everything.

I had lost my virginity. I had lost my virginity to Eric, my boyfriend—my coach, my older soccer coach. It was amazing and beautiful and nowhere near as awkward or one-sided or quick as Tara had said her first time was … but I still felt like something was off. Did I enjoy the experience last night? Hell yeah, but I wasn't planning on spontaneously bursting out into song and frolicking with whatever woodland creatures happened to be prancing nearby. Now that I had time to think about it, I just wished I had taken it slower.

Everything had went by so fast—not only was it my first time having sex, but it was my first time seeing a guy naked, first time letting someone other than my doctor see me naked, first time seeing a penis, first time having someone touch me down there, first time having someone touch me up there, first time seeing a condom in real-life, first time having someone use a condom, first time having an orgasm, first time sleeping over at a guy's place, first time spending the night in a guy's bed … and it all happened in one night. One little night. Only a couple of hours, really. Oy.

It would have been better if I had done some warm-up drills or practices first before playing the game, but I didn't. Not the smartest thing I'd ever done, but definitely not the worse.

I wasn't angry or upset or confused at me or even Eric … I just felt overwhelmed. Seriously overwhelmed. Last night, I hadn't thought twice about what I was doing, but now that it was just me and my brain and no sight of Eric's thought-blocking body I was in thinking overload, making up for lost thoughts.

I felt trapped. I had no one to talk to. I couldn't tell Amelia or Tara that I had sex, because the first thing they'd ask would be with whom and it's not like I could tell them the truth. And I would rather eat my fingers than ask Gran for advice or confide in Jason.

Eric probably wouldn't freak out as much as I was, and not just because he was currently sleeping. This wasn't his first time at absolutely anything sexual with a member of the opposite sex. This wasn't his first time sleeping next to someone in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, I'm guessing. And I definitely knew he couldn't get pregnant with his coach's baby. Shit, I wasn't on birth control and didn't have the morning-after pill. We had only used a condom, a condom that could be broken or ineffective. And even though dreary morning classes stuck in health class and reality shows had taught me that things could be worse, I knew that things could have been better, protection-wise.

"Good morning, lover," Eric murmured into my ear. "I'm glad that you like wearing my clothes as much as I like seeing you in them." He came up behind me and gave me a hug, bending over and wrapping his arms around my waist. My back was to him, and I leaned into his embrace, noticing he had just thrown on a pair of sweatpants—damn, where were those? He kissed my cheek and I turned my head to meet him straight-on. Despite my inner worries, I still wanted to be near Eric, to be his girlfriend … maybe just hold off on being his lover for a little while.

"My other clothes are still wet from last night. Sorry that I had to poke around to find these," I said flatly, trying to control the shakiness in my voice and in my thoughts.

"Don't worry about it. When I woke up and found myself caressing your pillow, I got nervous and wondered if you had somehow managed to make your way back home."

Back home. Back home to Gran thinking I was sleeping over at Amelia's house. Back home to Amelia thinking I was sleeping at my house. SHIT. Tara would know I didn't come home last night. Gran would wonder why I was sleeping over at Amelia's house and wonder why Tara wasn't. Maybe she would even ask Tara about it. That would amount to something smelling as fishy as a three-day-old whale carcass after it was left stranded on the sand in the hot sun.

This is why I didn't like lying.

"Sookie, are you okay? What's wrong?" Eric asked, tucking his head in the crook of my shoulder and kissing my neck.

I didn't answer. What could I say? That I was scared because I just lost my virginity and don't know how to deal with it? That there was a very good chance that someone could figure out that I didn't spend the night at any of the places I told people I was? That I could get an STD or become pregnant? That I felt more awkward and embarrassed than the time when Tara, Amelia and I were discussing a pretty awesome party in the bathroom and my math teacher walked out of a stall right as Tara was describing how fantastic Eggs was with his fingers and tongue?

"C'mon Sookie, talk to me," Eric pleaded, gently turning me around to face him. "Is this because of what happened last night?"

I took in a deep breath and answered in a frightfully small voice, "Yes and no."

Eric nodded, his eyes asking me to continue while his mouth transformed into a straight horizontal line. He ran his hands up and down my arms to comfort me. It worked. Kind of.

"I didn't do anything I didn't want to, and I didn't do anything I regret, but I'm scared. It just was too much too soon," I added quickly, glancing at Eric and then focusing on the doors behind him. As much as I wanted to stop having this conversation, I knew it was necessary.

Eric nodded and questioned softly, "I know that was your first time having sex. Was it also your first time being intimate with a man? Doing things?"

"It was my first time doing everything. _Everything_," I answered truthfully, dropping my gaze even more. Eric cupped my chin and positioned my face so that I was looking at him.

"Sookie, look at me. Don't be ashamed. Did I do anything that you didn't like or weren't comfortable with? I mean, I thought we might be moving a little fast but you didn't say anything so I assumed you were okay with everything. Fuck, I knew I should have stopped, I should have asked more if you were fine, I should have—"

"No, Eric, it's not you. Really, it's not. It's just that … can we move slower in the future? Take baby steps? 'Cause right now I'm really freaked out that someone might find out that I didn't sleep where I said I would last night and that I'm not on the pill and I can't talk with anyone about this because then I'd have to say who I had sex with and … and … I don't want a movie about my life Eric! I don't want to be a health video to show high school kids! I don't want to have my own episode of _True Life: I'm a Teenage Mom-Slut_! I just don't!!"

To his credit, Eric did not laugh or look at me like I was as crazy as I felt. My heart grew a little more because of that. "You said you can't talk about this with anyone. Why wouldn't you talk to me?"

I sighed. Didn't he get it? "Because I need my black Samantha Jones and my spunky Miranda Hobbes to complete my Southern Carrie Bradshaw, Eric! Because I need my girlfriends to talk about sex and what to do and what to wear because I'm clueless when it comes to relationships and stuff! I don't know how to handle this! I don't know what I'm supposed to do or where we're supposed to move on from here!"

Eric bit his lip and replied, "I don't either, Sookie. This is the first time I've had a secret relationship. This is the first time in a while that I've been in a committed relationship. I may not end up getting pregnant, but I could lose my reputation too, in addition to my coaching job. And yeah, I don't know how to help you pick out shoes or whatever, but I'm willing to try. If you want someone to analyze what I'm saying or doing, just come to the source and ask me. If you're confused on what to do sexually, let me help you with that, okay? Let me coach you, let me teach you. I want to help you, Sookie, so don't shut me out. We're in this together, so let's act that way."

I gulped, mentally preparing myself to ask the million dollar question. "So, uh, Eric, you're okay if … if we kind of take it slow from here on out? Just for a while, until I figure this all out?"

"I'll take it. I knew from the start you didn't have a lot of experience with boys, and I'm sorry if last night gave you the impression that every time we're alone together we need to have sex," Eric said seriously. He tucked a flyaway strand behind my ear and added, "I'm not in this for the sex, Sookie. I'm in it for all of you."

I nodded and grinned widely, extremely relieved and grateful that Eric was such a nice guy. He smiled in response and hugged me, bringing me closer to him. I closed my eyes and hugged back. Eric kissed the top of my head and ran his hands lightly up and down my back.

"Come on, lover, let's eat. We still have our first date today and let me tell you, you're going to need your energy," Eric said smoothly, leading me back into the house. He motioned for me to sit down at the counter top as he walked towards the fridge.

"I don't have any clothes with me, remember? I came here in my uniform. My wet dog uniform."

"That's not a problem. I have a working washing machine and dryer, so I can wash your uniform. But we can still swing by your house and you can pick up some clothes," he replied, taking a carton of eggs and a package of bacon out of the fridge. "Oh, wait, you know what? I might have a box of sample clothes from Adidas that I'm supposed to get to Pam, because they're for her spring line. But you could totally act as the test subject and wear those for now."

"Won't Pam be angry?"

"What Pam doesn't know won't hurt her, I promise," he said while placing the food on the counter and walking to the corner to bend down and dig a frying pan out of a cardboard box. And okay, so maybe I stared, and not because I was interested in finding out what brand of kitchen appliances he preferred.

He straightened and turned to find me gaping. "Bacon and eggs good?"

I nodded.

"Good, 'cause that's kinda all I have right now. I can make some toast too."

"Oh, let me help you with that," I replied, not wanting to just sit down and make Eric do all the work.

"Nope. My house, my guest, my rules."

"Come on! You know I'm going against every Southern belle rule by letting you cook for me while I lounge about doing nothing."

"Fine. You can make the espresso. It likes you more than it likes me anyway."

"Sure thing." I strolled over to the counter where the plastic appliance was and cooed, "Hey, baby, I'll save you from that mean old man and then it can be just the two of us."

He huffed dramatically and rolled his eyes before scrambling the eggs. I finished fiddling with the espresso machine and sat down on the chair directly in front of the countertop that Eric was preparing food on.

"Um, Eric, do you think you could come with me to the doctor's office today?" I asked softly, hoping he wouldn't freak out or get upset that it might ruin his date plans.

He stopped whisking the eggs and looked up. "Sure, what for?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. It's just that, uh, I want to get a prescription for the pill … and if you could sign up to get tested, that would be nice," I fumbled.

Eric just looked at me stoically for a moment before he broke out into a smile and walked over to gather me into a hug. After he pulled back he murmured, "I'm okay with all of that. I'm proud of you for being so smart about this, Sookie."

"Thanks, although to be honest that kind of sounded like something my dad would have said to me."

"Well, you'll always be my little girl," he joked, winking exaggeratedly at me. I rolled my eyes and tried my hardest not to smile, but broke down and grinned once he pinched my cheeks.

"Now you're just acting like my Aunt Linda," I laughed.

"Does your Aunt Linda do this?" Eric asked, giving me a kiss that Aunt Linda had definitely never given me, and maybe even to anyone else in her long life. He wrapped two hands in my hair and backed me up into the tabletop, pressing himself up against me. I cupped his face and kissed back just as eagerly. This felt right, this was a good pace for me. I was glad that I felt okay—well, _much_ more than okay—with this.

When Eric pulled back after some time, I saucily replied, "Only when she's really drunk." Eric guffawed for so long I almost thought he was making fun of me, but then he clutched his stomach and wheezed, "Only … when … she's … really … drunk! Too … funny!"

Once he regained his composure, he also regained his kissing skills and immediately set to work showing them off for me. Not that I was protesting. This time he hoisted me up so I was actually sitting on the kitchen counter and he put his hands on either side of me, on the table. He leaned into the kiss, following my lead. But we were rudely interrupted by the espresso machine beeping.

Eric pulled back and growled, "If I didn't hate that thing before, I would definitely hate it right now."

I held a finger to his lips and said, "Hey now, that's my baby you're talking about!"

"Hey now, that's my_ espresso machine_ you're talking about!" Eric retorted.

I giggled and hopped off the counter to make my way towards the aforementioned kitchen appliance. I turned around to see if Eric was watching, which he was with an incredulous look on his face, and I whispered to the piece of machinery, "Thank you for saving me! I owe ya one!"

Eric picked up a hand towel and threw it at me; I ducked and cheered when it sailed past me and hit the floor. I closed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at Eric, who reacted by throwing another towel at me and hitting me in the face. He laughed until I whipped it back at him, hitting him right in the chest.

"Mercy?" I squealed once I saw that he armed himself with oven mitts, hand towels, and a sponge. He grinned wickedly and I added, "State your terms."

Eric replied, "You clean up breakfast."

"Oh, so it's okay for you to forbid your guests to help you cook, but cleaning up is a whole other story?" I teased. I had been planning on pestering him to let me help clean up anyways, since he cooked.

He nodded and smiled shamelessly.

"Deal. Eggs almost done?"

"Yep, and the bacon's close to being ready too. Would you mind getting the paper plates from that cabinet to your right? And the plastic silverware next to it?"

I did what he asked and bluntly remarked, "You really should unpack. I can help, if you want."

"Don't, it's not your burden."

"It is if I have to eat breakfast on a cardboard box."

"Which you won't. I appreciate the offer, though. I guess if you really want to help you can come with me when I have to pick out furniture and home-y stuff like placemats and silverware. I'm no good at that stuff anyways, and I'd rather have you help than Pam. Wait, what's your opinion on a pink flowered couch and matching loveseat?"

I snorted and wrinkled my nose, instantly bombarded with the image of Eric lounging on a pink flowery sofa with purple fuzzy slippers and a fluffy bathrobe—which was wrong on so many levels. Apparently, that was the right response because Eric said, "Good. You passed the test. So yeah, you can come play house-shopping with me."

"Count me in!" I squealed, already thinking that some crimson curtains would go nicely with the wooden floors and the cream walls.

"Good. Now, stop bashing my humble abode and eat," he replied, shooing me away to sit down and spooning some eggs on two paper plates. He brought them over, one in front of me and one next to me, and placed the bacon on a paper towel-covered plate. I had already brought over the toast, eating utensils, napkins, and espresso cups.

I took a bite, and it was like I chomped down on a little piece of Heaven. "You know, if someone ever finds us about us and you get fired, I think you could easily become a chef. With your good looks someone would probably give you your own show on the Food Network," I teased, nudging his arm.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be silly, Stackhouse. If anything, I'd be serving meatloaf and green beans for my fellow prison inmates to get my sentence reduced because of my good behavior, all while my handsome self was rocking a mean hair net and a trendy neon orange jumpsuit."

Oh. Well, that was a great way to kill the mood. "Would you really go to prison because of me?" I asked cautiously, not wanting to know the answer but realizing I needed to.

"I would if you were underage, which you're not. I would still lose my job though," Eric answered. He looked over at my crestfallen face and put down his fork. "Hey, none of that. I looked that stuff up the second day we met. If that happens, then it happens. Much worse things could occur. But I'm not letting the fear of missing the goal stop me from shooting."

"Nice analogy," I retorted, feeling a little better. "While you were playing lawyer, did you happen to see what would happen to the player you were having inappropriate relations with?"

"You'd have to quit the team, as would I," Eric explained, staring at his eggs.

"Well, I'm still going to shoot," I replied, hoping he'd understand that I was playing off of what he said. I placed a hand over his.

He raised his arm and kissed my hand, murmuring, "I was hoping you would say that."

We ate the rest of the meal while talking about small stuff. True to our agreement I helped clean up, and Eric stepped out onto the balcony to make a call while I was introducing myself to his sink. Once I finished I sat on the couch and lazily watched a morning talk show. He came back inside clutching his cell phone and wearing a very satisfied smirk.

"Do you have to go to your own doctor, or would you rather have the pay a quick, secret visit to the official team doctor for the women's national team?" Eric asked calmly, sitting down next to me.

I turned and stared. "What now?"

"If you're okay with it, I mean. I just figured that since you said you can't tell anyone, you'd be scared that you'd see someone you knew in the doctor's waiting room or while you picked up your prescription at the pharmacy. This way, you'll be doing it in a different town with a new doctor and nobody would have to know about it. And believe me, Dr. Ludwig has seen and done a lot worse than give a girl some birth control. She's a tough old broad, but she knows better than to ask questions and she's a damn good doctor."

I thought about Eric's proposal, and it did make a lot more sense. Gran wouldn't find out, no one would find out, and I'd be covered, in every way.

"Okay, but won't she think it's weird that you're taking a girl from the team your coaching to get birth control? She might not ask questions, but she can think of them."

"Already planned it. You came to me for help because your strict Bible-loving, hymn-singing parents forbade you to continue seeing your boyfriend, much less have sex with him, and I'm merely doing my good deed for the day by helping you out. Oh, by the way, your name is Mary-Lou Hickey."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. Eric seemed to have an awful lot of preconceived notions about the Southern way of life, even though he went to school in North Carolina. In a gross exaggeration of my perfectly adorable Southern accent, I batted my eyes and drawled, "Yes sirree, Coach Northman, sir. Ain't you such a nice gentleman for helpin' out lil' ol' me! Golly gee, I oughta bake you a pie for your Scandinavian kindness."

Eric snickered and I continued, in my regular speaking voice, "But seriously, thank you, Eric. I appreciate you going through all that trouble just to help me out and squelch one of my biggest worries. But don't you think it'll look suspicious that you take me there at the same time when you're getting tested?"

He scooted closer to me and responded, "Already took care of that. Just said it was a matter of convenience and you don't have a car, so I'm taking you. But I've gotten tested by Ludwig before, so it's no big deal. Oh, but the appointment's at 10, and I'm guessing you might want to take a shower and clean up a bit before then?"

I nodded gratefully. Eric smiled and continued, "So I'll go clean up the bathroom a little and fetch your new clothes and a towel, okay? And then you can be the clean, hygienic Sookie I barely get to see."

I made a face and punched him on the arm. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you think about it, really think about it, we only see each other sweating it up at sports-related functions: soccer practices, soccer games, soccer bonding activities. We can be normal today," he explained simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Any retort or comeback that I had died on my tongue. What could I say to that? He was so on-target by saying that. This really was our only time to have any semblance of a normal, functioning romantic relationship. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Okay, so I'll go grab you some clothes and a towel, all right? Be right back," Eric said after a few moments of silence. He kissed me on the cheek and disappeared down the hall.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. Eric was right—this was the first time where we could act like regular people. We could be Eric-and-Sookie, not coach-and-player or adult-and-teenager. I liked that.

"And here we go," Eric called out, walking into the room carrying a large cardboard box with a white towel sitting on top of it. He threw the towel on the couch next to me and placed the box on the floor next to me. "I didn't really peek around in there … I saw a lot of pink."

"I'm sure I'm qualified enough to handle it," I joked, bending over to open the box. Wow. He wasn't kidding—there really was a lot of pink: pink visors, pink socks, pink spandex. "See? This is doable," I added, extracting a dark blue velour tracksuit and a white tank top out of the pastel debris. I triumphantly held up the clothes to show Eric, but my face fell when I saw the "BITE ME" emblazoned in hot pink cursive writing on the butt section of the sweat pants.

Eric moved to see what I was looking at and he broke out into laughter as soon as he saw the other side of the pants.

"Well, we're just going to the doctors anyway. It doesn't matter," I said defensively. Besides, if I saw anyone that I knew, the least of my worries would be the embarrassingly suggestive statement stamped on my ass.

"Are you sure? Because I probably have some shorts or shirts somewhere that might fit you," Eric said, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, you don't have to dig through all your boxes just to find it. But we're still stopping at my house afterwards, right? And you can still wash my uniform?" I asked. Because there was no way I was going on my first date with Eric wearing a velour tracksuit that looked like it should be worn by bored, Botox-ed housewives.

"Right. Okay then," Eric said dubiously. I smiled and grabbed a pretty yellow sports bra to add to my Pam pile. No underwear, but I'd have some once Eric washed my clothes. Besides, I didn't want to go to a doctor's appointment to get birth control and walk in without wearing underwear, because I'm not that kinky. I picked up the towel and stood up. Eric rose with me.

"I'll be fine. Let me worry about me and my fashion choices. Especially because so far I've only seen you wearing jeans and sweatpants," I joked. Eric scoffed and narrowed his eyes. I reached over and kissed him gently on the lips. "But thank you for always being so considerate."

I strolled over to the bathroom. Eric had reattached the shower curtain and cleaned up a bit in there. My clothes from last night were nowhere to be seen, but I heard a faint mechanic rumbling and guessed Eric had started the laundry. Hmm … a boy who cleans. Nice.

I took a long, grateful shower, always reminded of what dirty deeds had transpired in there less than twelve hours ago. When I finished, I saw that Eric had tucked my old clothes on top of the towel and the Pam clothes that were resting on the top of the cabinet. I toweled off and slipped into my underwear, the tank top and sweatshirt, and my uniform shorts. There, that was something I would normally wear. And I wouldn't have to look like J. Lo. Win.

As soon as I was done I walked to the kitchen, still towel-drying my hair. I placed the rest of the clothes on the seat I had occupied during breakfast and walked over to where Eric was leaning against the table, drinking a glass of water and reading the newspaper.

"Your turn," I said, swatting him with my towel. "Go be the clean, hygienic Eric I've come to know."

After some sexual innuendo on his part and a combination of blushing and eye-rolling on mine, Eric showered and we were ready to go see the doctor. I brought along my soccer bag and everything else, as we agreed that as soon as I got the prescription we would head over to Bon Temps.

Eric drove to a regular-looking building that had a sign that just said "Ludwig" planted in the yard. I looked hard at Eric, who glanced at me and said, "Yeah, Ludwig's a very professional and very desirable doctor, so she only has regular patients. It's a little off, but she's completely confidential yet professional, I promise. She's the best doctor I've ever met, and I've met a lot."

I nodded. If she earned such a glowing review from Eric, she must be pretty good. I felt confident walking in there with Eric, especially since the walls were a charcoal color and the tiles were very black and shiny. No kiddie waiting room or Mickey Mouse wallpaper, that's for sure. There wasn't even a receptionist; Eric rang a bell on the table and about two minutes later a very short, very old looking woman in blue scrubs and a bandana wrapped around her head walked into the room.

"Northman. Thanks for showing off my handiwork," she said by way of greeting, gesturing to Eric's exposed knee peeking out from underneath his khaki cargo shorts. I deduced she was the one who helped Eric with his ACL injury, and that made me feel a little better. Even though she was using my nickname. Whatevs.

"Ludwig, it's good to see you too," Eric replied. They shook hands and Ludwig turned her steely-eyed gaze to me.

"And this must be the young'un. Mary-Lou Hickey, the rebel without a birth control method. Welcome."

I would have been offended, but something told me that nice mannerisms weren't exactly the key focus of study in whatever med school she went to.

I sweetly replied, "Yep, that's me. Thank you for seeing me today and helping me out."

"Just doing my job. Come with me. Northman, you stay here. Sorry I don't have any parenting magazines for you."

"That's what iPhones are for. Have fun," he replied, winking at me once Ludwig turned her back. I wasn't planning on having Eric come in with me earlier, but now that I knew what Ludwig was like it would have been nice to go into battle a little prepared. Oh well.

But surprisingly, the whole experience wasn't as terrifying as I thought it would be. Ludwig didn't ask any questions she didn't need to and didn't make me feel any more embarrassed or awkward than I already was. She did her job and she did it well, just as Eric said. She handed me a prescription to bring to the nearest pharmacy, shook my hand, and told me to tell Eric she would see him now. After a few stunned seconds I shrugged and walked back to where Eric was lounging as comfortably as he could in the small plastic chair. He stood up as soon as I entered the room.

"All good?" Eric asked, seeming as relieved as I was that this was over. Well, almost over.

"Yep. It's your turn now. Have fun," I replied. He made a face and left the room.

I flipped through a _National Geographic_ while waiting for Eric, and after I read the whole issue he came back out alone, without Ludwig. I stood up and followed him out the door, wanting to leave this place as much as he looked like he did.

"So you need to get your prescription filled at the pharmacy?" Eric asked as soon as we got in the car.

"Yep, and then I'm golden. Can we stop at the nearest one here?"

"Sure. There's one down the street. And I'm probably going to have to stop for some real coffee, none of that espresso junk."

"Hey I made that espresso junk!" I joked as Eric pulled out of the parking lot.

He laughed, "Yeah, and that's the only reason why I didn't call it 'espresso shit.'"

"Oh, okay," I shot back. I felt a grin threatening to crumble my sarcastic seriousness and turned to the side, but Eric must have seen me and said, "Hey, is that a smile? Is that a Sookie Stackhouse smile?"

I rolled my eyes and giggled, "Yeah, all because of you!"

"Yes, all because of me," he said seriously, walking to his side of the car. We drove to the pharmacy and picked up my pills and a bunch of candy and house-friendly stuff for him, like candles and air fresheners, while waiting for my prescription to be filled. Then we stopped at the local Starbucks, where Eric ordered a plain cup of coffee, black. Who orders regular coffee with absolutely nothing in it at a _Starbucks_? I ordered an orange mocha frappaccino and laughed when Eric eyed my drink suspiciously.

After our errands we drove over to Bon Temps, with me trying to guess what our date would be like. We weren't going to be indoors, I would be fine doing what we would be doing in the clothes I was currently wearing (but I shook that off because Eric's just a guy), and there was food without a restaurant and entertainment without a piece of electronic equipment. I was so confused I almost wished I hadn't started asking questions.

Once we entered Bon Temps I reflected that we already slept together before our first date, which we both agreed was strange, but then again, so was our entire relationship. Even so, it got a little quieter in the car.

Things became deadly silent when we pulled into my driveway and saw Jason walking over to his truck. Eric slammed on the breaks as soon as he saw Jason, and I swore loudly.

Jason stopped walking and stared at us. We stared back. No one moved or even blinked.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

**Already working on the next chapter. But if you'd like to give me some magic speed-typing juice, just leave a review! **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I know, I know. It's been a while since the last update for Score! *hangs head* and I'm sorry for leaving you with a helluva cliffy *ducks and uses laptop as shield* but I got too caught up in writing my other fics (too soon for self-pimpage?) and forgot about this little ditty. Fail. If that made you lose interest in the story, it's okay. I understand. **

**Thank you to chiisai-kitty for her editing skills on her new awesome Microsoft Office Word Bar. I don't know exactly what that is, but I do know that she is amazing! I also like what she had to say about a certain part of the story, but that's at the bottom.**

**P.S. These characters are not mine.**

_recap: _

_Things became deadly silent when we pulled into my driveway and saw Jason walking over to his truck. Eric slammed on the breaks as soon as he saw Jason, and I swore loudly._

_Jason stopped walking and stared at us. We stared back. No one moved or even blinked._

_-_-_-_-_-_-__

Jason started walking towards us. In my frenzied mind, it seemed like he was moving in slow-motion, wanting to drag out my paranoia and fear for as long as possible. The crunching of his feet on the gravel, Eric swearing under his breath, and the soft music radiating from Eric's iPod all were drowned out by the pounding of my furiously beating heart.

Bah-dum. We're screwed.

Bah-dum. This is all over.

Bah-dum. The game is up.

All the extra adrenaline gave me a major eureka moment. At least it wasn't Gran or Tara who happened to be outside when Eric and I pulled up. It was Jason.

Jason, the star quarterback who led his team to the state championships his senior year. Jason, whose coaches used to give him free New Orleans Saints tickets and bring him breakfast and lunch at school. Jason, who was more than familiar with the benefits a star athlete receives from coaches, even if they weren't necessarily the same, ahem, benefits I was getting.

Jason, who knew I gave my car to Gran last night. Maybe he'd just think Eric was giving me a ride home from an imaginary morning practice or something. _Aaah, now there's an idea_.

Jason, who couldn't pour the water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

"Oh, thank God," I breathed.

Eric turned to stare at me incredulously and hissed, "Sookie, are you fucking blind?" His eyes were burning blue with fear.

"Listen, if we spin this the right way, we might come out alive. Just follow my lead, okay? Jason's not the smartest guy, but he was a damn good quarterback and he's used to getting more attention from coaches than most athletes. Just don't be stupid about this," I said as calmly as I could.

Eric nodded tersely, looking past me as Jason finally made his way over to my side of the car. I lowered the window and prepared myself for God knows what.

Jason poked his head in, hands jauntily resting on the top of the car, and grinned, "Hi, there. I'm Jason Stackhouse, Sookie's older brother."

His tone was friendly—too friendly, almost. But then again, Jason was always very sociable (especially to anyone with boobs and a smile, but that doesn't really apply to this). Was I just being paranoid? I looked at Jason, who was wearing a stale smile that was fading as the silence grew and no one talked except for my tell-tale heart. I peeked at Eric, who looked relatively okay except for the fact that he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly I was worried for its safety.

Finally Eric snapped out of it. "Eric Northman. I'm—"

"Sookie's coach. Yeah, dude, I was at the game and at Merlotte's last night! Congrats, man! Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier, but I was a little … distracted, if you know what I mean," Jason said, giving Eric an easy bro-smile.

"Uh, right. I remember. Thank you," Eric replied, obviously trying to figure out Jason's game, as was I.

"So what're you doing here?" Jason asked, still grinning.

I quickly answered, "We had an early-morning practice and no one could give me a ride home, since I gave Gran my car last night, so Eric offered."

"Oh, okay. Got it. Hey man, thanks for looking out for Sookie," Jason said, seeming to accept my weak excuse.

"No problem," Eric replied smoothly, his voice sounding a little stronger than the last time he spoke.

I turned to Eric and sweetly said, "Yeah, thanks for driving me home, coach. Sorry for the inconvenience. See ya on Monday."

Eric looked more shocked than when Jason first started talking. I winked at him, hoping that he'd at least play along even if he didn't know what I was doing. Even if I didn't know what I was doing.

"Oh, of course, Sookie. See you Monday."

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and Jason backed up so I could open the door. I waved goodbye to Eric and started walking back to the house with Jason. I didn't dare turn around to look, but I didn't hear the sound of his car leaving the driveway.

"So—" Jason said, but I quickly cut him off.

"Oh, crap, I left my soccer bag in Eric's trunk! Hold that thought!"

I turned and ran back to Eric's car, looking over my shoulder and grinning once I saw Jason walking to his pick-up truck. Eric lowered the window as I approached.

"I left my soccer bag in your car," I explained breathlessly. He nodded his head and popped the trunk, getting out so he could walk me back there.

"What now?" Eric muttered.

I whispered, "I think we're covered. But just to be safe, you go drive over to the soccer fields and I'll meet you there, and we can still have our date. We'll figure it out there. But lemme go do damage control and get changed and I'll meet you there in twenty. Okay?"

"Okay. Don't forget, practice is at 3 on Monday," he called out loudly as he walked back to his car. Jason turned around at that, and I was glad that I had thought of my soccer bag because that made our story more believable. Plus, I was in athletic clothes. That worked in our favor as well.

I started walking over towards Jason, who was leaning against his truck while watching Eric back up out of the driveway.

"He seems like a nice guy," Jason said, and I froze. Had he seen through our little act? Was this some sort of test? Did Jason actually have brain cells?

"Yeah, he is. He's a good coach too," I replied neutrally.

"Cool. Well, I'm heading out. Just stopped by for some breakfast; Gran made extra pancakes and they should be on the counter. See ya later, Sooks." He opened the door and turned the car on, and I walked to the grass and waved as he pulled out.

Whew. Looked like he bought it. Now I could only hope Gran would.

Luckily for me, I found her on the back porch sweeping, so there was a good chance she hadn't seen Eric drop me off. Even so, I didn't want to get too caught up in my web of lies, so I told her there was an early morning practice and Eric gave me a ride home when no one else could; I figured that'd be safe since she seemed okay with him driving me to Merlotte's last night. I was right—she just smiled and expressed how nice Eric was. I smiled too, glad that I was off the hook.

Then she dropped the bomb, asking me why Tara couldn't give me a ride.

"Why Tara couldn't bring me home? Uh … Tara couldn't bring me home because … uh, she had a really bad practice. She missed every shot she took and her team was destroyed in the scrimmage. She was really pissed off and went on a run to cool down. But, uh, if I were you I wouldn't bring it up, that'd probably just upset her even more. And she didn't have too much fun at Amelia's either, so I wouldn't mention that either. She's just having a bad day," I rambled. Hey, I thought that seemed like a pretty believable excuse, especially considering I just came up with it in ten seconds.

Evidently Gran agreed, as she promised not to mention anything and herded me into the kitchen to have some breakfast. I shoveled down the food, not even looking at what I was throwing in my mouth, and told Gran I had to work on a school project at a friend's house. She just wished me good luck, which made me feel terrible for taking advantage of her goodness. I hated lying, especially to her.

I took the stairs two at a time and hastily changed into navy shorts, a blue-and-white plaid shirt, and white Keds. I grabbed my purse, kissed Gran goodbye, and sped off to the soccer fields.

Eric was leaning against his Corvette when I pulled up next to him. He walked over and opened the car door for me to get out.

"So that was pretty close, huh?" he asked; his mouth twisted into a smile that crinkled his eyes but didn't make them merry.

"Too close," I replied.

"So … you still up for the date?"

"Of course! But, um, do you mind if we take separate cars? I'm still a little freaked out about this morning and I don't want to risk anything," I mumbled, hoping I wasn't being too paranoid.

"Sure, you can follow me. And the place isn't too far away, anyways," Eric grinned, "but we really should get going."

"Ooh, do you have a reservation set up?" I asked, still curious about where he was taking me.

"Nope," he smirked as he walked over to his car. I stomped my foot on the ground, not caring that it'd make me seem even younger than I actually was, and I heard laughter and the sound of Eric's car turning on. Sighing, I waited for Eric to pull out.

There was something oddly thrilling about following Eric in our separate cars. I'd feel a secret flush of excitement whenever we were stopped and I'd meet his gaze in his rearview mirror. Once he'd turned around to wave at me and I giggled. That man would do anything for a laugh.

I was glad I had Eric driving in front of me, because I had no idea where I was. We were somewhere even more backwoods than Bon Temps; I didn't know that was even possible. Eric turned off onto a dirt road, but I trusted him.

We drove past a large painted sign that announced we were five hundred yards away from Cripple Creek Farm. What the what? I shook my head and kept driving.

Then the path opened to reveal a large field, with a ton of cars parked in the makeshift lot. A large white farmhouse surrounded by trees was behind the parking lot, and there were lots of people walking all over the place. I parked next to Eric and jumped out of my car.

"Where are we? What's Cripple Creek Farm? What are we going to do?"

"My, aren't we nosey," Eric teased. I smacked him on the arm. "Okay, okay! All your questions will be answered as soon as we go in the barn, if you can hold off on abusing me until then!"

As we walked over, I spotted a bunch of workers wearing lime green shirts with "Mega Maze '10: The Lost Kingdom" printed on the front. People, looking sunburned and sweaty but very happy, walked past us enthusiastically talking about corners and directions and hints and surprises.

"Eric, what's this Mega Maze?" I asked curiously, and he shook his head in reply.

"Patience is a virtue."

"And withholding is a vice. Seriously, what's the deal?"

"Wait and see, Stackhouse. Wait and see." Gah, he was being so annoying right now. Good thing he's so cute when he does it.

We walked up the stairs and I was immediately greeted with a large poster board announcing prices for the Mega Maze tickets. I bit my lip to prevent me from asking any of the workers what this place was; I didn't want them to think Eric, like, kidnapped me or something. Paranoid, I know, but still.

I focused on these pictures of different cornfields while Eric paid for our tickets to something. But these weren't crop circles, they were crop-dinosaurs and crop-stars and crop-boots and some other crop-shapes I couldn't figure out. Each was dated with a different year. Huh. Either the aliens were getting bored or we were at a corn maze. I relayed this to Eric.

He thanked the lady and, placing a hand on my back to guide me, grinned, "Use your brain, Stackhouse. After all, didn't you once say your GPA surpasses the average hours of sleep you get per night?"

I opened my mouth to respond but then we were herded into a crowded room and the lights immediately dimmed and a movie began playing on a projector. A man dressed up in a crown and tights introduced himself as King Arthur. He explained that his Knights of the Round Table had failed him and he now needed our help to find the Holy Grail!! Even though no one could see me, I was grinning like a scarecrow. But with teeth.

Someone snorted, and I knew it was Eric even though it was pitch-black, so I pinched his elbow to get him to shut up while I listened to King Arthur tell me that the Holy Grail was hidden in the maze and how we had to find it, or else! The acting was very campy and I could see why Eric would snort, but I was too engrossed in the matter to care; this was the closest thing to a Disneyland ride that I'd ever been to and I was excited even though I hadn't seen the maze yet.

But I became even more animated once the video showed a crop-crown, the maze of the year; I grabbed Eric's hand and squeezed. He softly chuckled and squeezed back. I had to hand it to him—this was already shaping up to be a pretty great first date.

The lighting came back on and I could see that we were in a room full of parents and their kids. No matter, that would just make it easier for Eric and me to beat them all and be the first to find the Holy Grail!

I tugged on his hand and we pushed our way out the door. We exited the farmhouse and were now stationed in front of a gigantic corn maze with corn stalks about twenty feet high. I could only see the entrance, where there were real (or fake, I guess, but whatever) knights on horses guarding the front gate. I started walking over there, but Eric pulled me back.

"Hey, I think we should go to the bathroom first, before going in. The video said the average amount of time it took people to finish the maze was about three hours. I might be a Viking, but my bladder's not that good."

Oh yeah. I nodded and we waited in a long line for the porta-potties. Good thing I had Purrell in my purse, which I offered to Eric as well. He thanked me and then asked if I wanted a quick turkey leg or goblet of chilled apple cider, which was what the snack bar was offering in addition to modern cookout food like hamburgers ("hind of cow") and hotdogs ("hot hogs"). I shook my head no. After we accepted some complimentary packets of sunscreen ("emollient for the wrath of God") and took turns protecting ourselves from the sun, we finally entered the maze.

As we took lefts and rights and looked at our maps, we also talked more about ourselves, more than we had in the past. Eric told me what life was like in Sweden, about the changing days and nights and the frosty weather that a born-and-bred Southern gal like me could only imagine while watching a Christmas movie. He smiled while talking about the last time he took Pam back home (apparently he was bequeathed a lot of real estate when his parents died? He mentioned having an apartment in Stockholm and a country cabin in northern Sweden) and how she absolutely loved that she was recognized more than he was, because of the international fame she had won along with her Olympic gold medal. He also talked about what it was like growing up without any siblings or a lot of friends his own age.

And even though the conversation made me realize how very different our lives had been before we met, I welcomed the discussion, talking about my family and how it was hard for me that my friends thought the worst thing that could happen to them was that they wouldn't get accepted into their number-one college. But like Eric, I also mixed in the serious stuff with the funny, as I recounted the time where Jason picked up a pizza and then drove back because he thought they gave him a pizza without any toppings, when in reality he just opened the pizza box upside down. True story.

Eric roared when I said that, attracting the stares of frustrated parents and their whining kids. Somewhere behind the corn stalks to our right I heard a clear voice call out, "Peasant, how dare ye be merry when ye be concentrating on helping yer God-loving King! Pray ye that I not find yer misbegotten hide, ye empty headed boar!"

My eyes widened as I remembered that the video said that workers would be stationed in the middle of the crown, which served as the half way point. By the look on Eric's face, he was thinking the same thing as me; we continued with increased fervor, chortling while coming up with Shakesperean insults to say to each other. I called Eric a puking clay-brained foot-licker, and he denounced me as an unwashed half-faced red-elbowed harlot, and we cracked up as other people looked on curiously. They probably thought we were on medieval acid.

After some more dizzying turns we finally stumbled into the middle of the maze, where there were minstrels and knights and maidens stationed around the snack bar and nearby porta-potties (or privies, as the sign announced). Eric and I congratulated ourselves with hot hogs and chilled cider; "Come, drink ale and be merry with me, good fellow!" the female vendor had cried out to Eric, and I snorted at her lame Elizabethan pick-up line. We ate quickly, scarfing down our food so we could continue our quest to find the Holy Grail.

"See, I told you there was food without a restaurant and entertainment without a piece of electronic equipment," Eric smirked as he bought some bottled water. It was pretty hot with the sun beating down on us, and I was grateful for our medieval sunscreen. Excuse me, emollient for the wrath of God.

"Well then, I'm sorry I doubted you and your awesome date-making skills," I retorted.

"Oh, if you think this is awesome, just wait and see what other tricks I have up my sleeve, Stackhouse."

"Can't wait. Although, can you imagine how awkward this would be if it was a real first date?

Eric scoffed. "What do you mean, _a real first date_?"

I flushed. "I meant, like, if I didn't already know you so well already. Like, what if you took someone here on a blind date and you were stuck listening to them ramble on about their last romantic partner as you got more and more lost? That'd be horrible!"

"Are you kidding? That sounds like a great way to get to know someone!" Eric grinned. I rolled my eyes. He continued, "The only way that I can imagine a scenario like that being awful is if Jack Torrance came running through the corn stalks with an axe and shrieked, 'Here's Johnny!' Actually, you know what, I change my mind. That might be kind of fun."

I laughed and then we started walking around the corn maze again. There was a small archery field set in the middle of the path we had been walking down, so we took a break and had fun with that. I managed to hit the target every time and jumped up and down in excitement, even though I didn't even come close to the bullseye. Of course, Eric earned a handful of chocolate coins because of his three bullseyes (was archery in his Viking blood? I'd have to Wikipedia that). He gave me some candy because he said I was good luck, and we both sniggered when the milkmaid in charge of the activity excitedly asked if I was an enchantress.

Fortified by chocolate and humor, we walked around until we came to a large wooden bridge outlined with knights and peasants and maidens and other medieval persons that started clapping and cheering once they saw us. The same King Arthur from the video presented us with a plastic golden goblet (telling Eric he was the tallest rogue in all the land and looked like he could duel a dragon) and posed for a quick picture with us. I saucily asked him what a picture was, and the actor sent me a withering look before replying that the wench with the black box in her hands was a sorceress with magic powers that could be purchased for $12.99. Eric beamed at me.

I was in the middle of dragging Eric to go look at our picture when a knight called out, "Maiden and dragon-fighting rogue, the King has applauded thine effort and deemed thee worthy of announcing thine success to the rest of the peasants. Come yonder."

We wandered over yonder and someone shoved a microphone into Eric's hands. He looked at me. Guess he doesn't know how to address peasants! I smirked and he quickly handed me the mike as if it was a crying baby.

"Good day, men, women, and livestock. Ye be listening to Mistress Sookie.. The day has come for ye to find the holy grail! A pint of ale to those lucky enough to survive! Fear not, my friends. God will save thee" I sang into the microphone, too busy concentrating on not giggling to see the gobsmacked expressions on everyone's faces, especially Eric's. What, I paid attention in English class during our Shakespeare unit!

I handed the microphone back to Eric and immediately burst out laughing; in fact, my witch cackling (oh no! hope I don't get burned at the stake!) was do loud it was unintentionally broadcasted over the loudspeaker. The knight looked at me like I just licked his face.

After a quick glance at me, Eric grinned, closed his eyes, and bellowed, "FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE FIE!" I remembered that "fie" basically is the medieval equivalent of "fuck" and laughed even more, but with Eric now joining in. The knight hurriedly grabbed the mike and turned it off before moving on to the next round of peasants, but we were too busy with our medieval snickering to care.

Maybe it was exhaustion or sun stroke or just being able to freely enjoy each others' company, but Eric and I laughed for an embarrassingly long amount of time. After being hustled off of the bridge by another knight ("Can it be a dragon over yonder? Thou must investigate right away!"), Eric and I wandered over to the picture booth and I bought the picture of us; Eric pouted and said that his smile looked like Wallace from "Wallace and Gromit" and he was so right I forgot to poke fun at his girly pouting. So of course I added a customized picture frame (with a 3-D scarecrow on it) just for giggles. Well, my giggles; Eric told me it was a waste of money and jokingly stormed off to the merchandise tent.

Bad move on his part once I found this highlighter-yellow t-shirt that had "I Found the Holy Grail at Cripple Creek's Mega Maze and All God Gave Me Was This Stinkin' Tee Shirt!" written on the front and a cartoon of a frowning knight on the back. I tried to talk Eric into buying a hideous orange shirt that had "Cripple Creek Mega Maze" written on the front and "Peasant" on the back, like where "Stackhouse" is written on the back of my soccer uniform. After searching for a shirt that read "King" or "Knight" on the back and coming up blank, he vehemently refused.

I pretended to make Eric's "Peasant" shirt dance for him, and he rolled his eyes and went to look at the wooden sword display on the other side of the tent. Figures. I grabbed a large (that was what his other shirts were) and used the opportunity to sneak over to the register and buy my shirt and Eric's shirt, looking over my shoulder so much that "Mistress Mary" told me that if I hadn't currently been paying for my purchases she'd think I was stealing something. I laughed nervously and threw the money at her before I ducked down; Eric had walked back over, his eyes scanning over the crowded makeshift aisles for little old me.

Mistress Mary leaned over the counter to stare and I hissed, "Don't look at me! Can't you see I'm hiding!?! People hid back in the Middle Ages too, ya know!"

She rolled her eyes, but that only increased the sketched-out factor of her face. I didn't mind, especially when she began putting the shirts in a bag. I extended a hand up and, after a very long pause that made me fully aware of how weird I was being, she hesitantly placed my change and plastic bag o' goodies in the palm of my hand. I stuffed the change in the bag, too rushed to organize it in my wallet, and slid the handles of the bag around my wrist. I waved goodbye (not wanting to risk standing up to see if she'd wave back) and frog-marched away. In fact, I was so busy frog-marching that I didn't see the pair of long, jean-covered legs in front of me until my nose hit knee, and not my own.

Too frightened to look up, I peered down and—yep, black Puma sneaks. Eric. My observation skills smugly proved themselves to be frightfully good when I tilted my head up and saw Eric's trademark two-for-one special, the Northman eyebrow wiggle and smirk. Cost: anything that amuses him, and usually me and/or my embarrassment.

"Hiya Eric," I said as calmly and dignified as I possibly could while squatting in the middle of a public area.

"Uh, hiya Sookie. What're ya doing down there?" Oh, he was enjoying this, all right.

"Um …" (damnit, I needed a Twix moment! Stupid medieval gift-tent for not stocking modern-day candy bars!) "What am I doing? Well ... I am checking for cow patties, that's what I'm doing. You never can be too sure."

"Did you find anything?" Eric asked, extending a hand to help me up.

"Not really," I replied as I tried to simultaneously stand up and hide my shopping bag behind my back.

"So then, what's in the bag?" he grinned devilishly. "Cow patties for the ride home?"

I can just tell there's no f-ing way Eric's letting me out of this easy. "Nope, I just bought my tee shirt, that's all."

"Right."

"Right_-o._ So. What's next on the big Northman date?"

"Well, I've got nothing. Unless, of course, you want to try and get us kicked out for our wannabe medieval behavior?" Eric said, winking. I laughed. He continued, "We pretty much did everything there is to do here. And we already had coffee today … I mean, unless you're up for some more of that, uh, interesting-looking slushie concoction you ate. Drank. Digested."

I giggled, "It's called an orange mocha frappaccino, Eric. Come on. And you should remember that, because I drink those all the time."

Having properly chastised Eric for his unforgivable Starbucks ignorance, I added, "I saw an ice cream store on the way. We could have ice cream?"

His eyes lit up. "Ice cream sounds great! Race you there!"

I chortled. "No way! We can't go drag racing!"

Eric deflated a little. "Oh, right. Of course. I—"

"Race you to the cars!" I interrupted, sprinting towards the organic parking lot.

I heard laughter behind me, but I was more focused on the pounding footsteps that came from a similar-sounding place. And then I was caught in midbound by a pair of arms like steel bands. Lifted and whirled, I was spun around like an ice skater so much that I felt a little dizzy when I was released. When I finally straightened, I saw Eric smugly leaning against his car, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed.

"The phrase 'slow poke' comes to mind," he smirked.

"Really? 'Cause I was thinkin' more along the lines of 'filthy stinkin'cheater.' Huh," I cheekily replied, walking over to him.

"Indeed. But since I won, I deserve a little prize, don't you think?" Eric murmured, stepping closer to me and gazing at my lips.

Nuh-uh, he was going to have to work for it now. I don't like losing. "I completely agree," I responded in my best imitation Marilyn Monroe voice while digging through the plastic bag that I was hiding behind my back. Once I found what I was looking for, I slowly took it out while angling my face up towards Eric's.

He closed his eyes and bent his head down in the perfect kiss position; he was certainly making it very hard for me to concentrate on my important task. But, with the right incentives I can be focused. Very focused. Once his face entered my kissing radar I triumphantly placed the shirt I had bought him over my face so that he'd kiss cotton lips. Only downside was that I couldn't see his expression when he made contact and tried to make out with a tee shirt, but after he quickly pulled away I ripped the shirt off of my face, snickering when I saw a spasm of confusion overtake his face.

"What the …?" he exclaimed, looking adorkably confuzzled. I beamed. Success! Aha, take_ that!_

"You wanted a little prize … well, I only have one in a size large!" I giggled.

Eric scowled and took the shirt I was holding out to him, his eyes widening and then narrowing once he recognized it from before. He looked at me and then back at the shirt, and then he threw his head back and laughed and laughed. I did too. A lot.

Once we calmed down (enough so that people would only think we were on expired medieval wine now) Eric threw the shirt over his shoulder and said, "So, I'd say that you're the one who deserves a prize."

"A prize, huh?" I replied, stepping up and fingering his shoulder-shirt with one hand as the other stroked Eric's cheek. He grinned. _This was too easy_.

I leaned up for a kiss, and Eric obligingly closed his eyes again and angled his face, just enforcing my belief that he truly didn't learn his lesson.

I breathed on his lips, "Ice cream," and pulled back right away. This time I could see his expression and I didn't even bother trying to conceal my mirth. His eyes fluttered open and his mouth widened even more. I placed my hand under his chin and closed his mouth. Now it was my time to smirk, and I made sure I was doing a pretty damn good job of it. _The phrase 'payback is a bitch' comes to mind …_

"What?"

"Ice cream. That's my prize."

"_Seriously_?"

"Are you going to make me say it a third time?" I teased, drinking in his incredulous expression.

He recovered by replying, "Nope, don't want to risk having the Beetlejuice of frozen dairy treats come and haunt you."

"Awwwh, you're the best boyfriend ever!" I responded sweet-sarcastically. Eric understood and shrugged his shoulders in an adorable 'oh well, what can ya do?' way.

I kissed him on the cheek and skipped over to my car. Once I unlocked it I turned and saw Eric still watching me, a big smile on his face.

"What?"

"Don't change," is all he said before he got in his car.

He pulled out and then I followed suit; we'd lower the windows and wave at each other at red lights and I wondered if it was possible to die of giddiness. I began feeling dangerously giddy once we arrived at The Cone Zone and saw that their special was a Reeses banana split sundae: chocolate ice cream, peanut butter and hot fudge sauces, a chopped banana, whipped cream, and crushed-up Reeses peanut butter cups. That sounded like heaven in a dish. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eric read the specials board and grin broadly. Somehow I just knew that was what he was going to order.

"Wanna split the Reeses banana sundae?" I asked as we stood holding hands in front of the counter.

"But the ice cream's supposed to be your big prize," Eric said while glancing quizzically at me.

"It will be if you spoon-feed it to me _Lady and the Tramp_ style but with ice cream and humans," I flirted.

His eyebrows shot up and he winked. "Win-win. I like it."

"More like gold medal win-silver medal win, since you're still paying. But whatever."

True to form, Eric did pay and he did spoon-feed me the ice cream for a little bit. I couldn't tell if I liked the sundae because it was delicious or it was being fed to me by Eric. Since I'm a nice person, I spooned some ice cream into Eric's mouth. We were being that lovey-dovey couple right now, but since there weren't any other customers and the employees were watching a soap opera behind the counter, I didn't give a damn.

After we finished, we stayed inside and just chatted. I didn't want this date to end, even though I knew it was getting late, too late for Gran to believe this was a school project. But I forgot about being smart and reliable once Eric hesitantly asked if I was doing anything tomorrow.

"No, I'm free. Why?" _Because you know if you asked me to go skunk-catching or iguana-licking or anything else I'd say yes in a heartbeat. _

"Well, you see, Pam's charity is hosting a children's 3 v. 3 soccer tournament thing and I was wondering if you wanted to come and hang out and coach with me. You'd get a t-shirt and free food and a nice tan that I know you like having. It'd be a lot of fun," he explained, ripping up and shredding some napkins absentmindedly.

"You forgot to add that I'd be able to spend more Northman-Stackhouse time with you," I teased.

"Right. That too. Should have said that first. So, you in?" Eric asked, turning his attention back to me.

"I'm in. I don't have that much homework anyways. Although I need to cover all the bases first before I sign anything, just to mix up my sports metaphors. When, where, how long?"

"When? Pam wants me there by six in the morning because I'm a field marshall; I don't know what time it starts, but I can find that out. It's at the Shreveport soccer fields, which are literally three minutes away from my apartment. And I think it's until four or five, but again, I can find that out. And you don't have to stay all day. You don't even have to come if you have too much homework. I'd understand."

"Northman, read my lips." Eric did, but was paying so much attention to my mouth he didn't look like he'd hear me. I blushed and stung my tongue out, which caused him to look up. "Listen. I want to come, and I'll try to be there for as long as possible, okay?"

Eric opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then bit his lip, then opened it again. He looked like a little kid with a big secret.

"What? Seriously, what? Northman, just spit it out!" I said, a little worried about what Eric obviously didn't want to say to me. Did he not want me there? I didn't have to come along if he didn't want me to.

Then Eric erupted with laughter, causing the workers to glare at him for draining out the soap opera and me to stare at him confusedly. What the heck? Once he finally opened his eyes after laughing so hard and took one look at my puzzled expression, he broke out into guffaws again.

"Oh, _come on_ Stackhouse!" he managed after another bout of laughter.

"What? I don't get it." I asked. "Do I have ice cream on my face?"

He laughed some more. "Just think about what you just said," he replied with a huge, knowing grin on his face. His eyes bore into mine, as if he was trying to signal me something using his eyelashes and Morse code.

I did think about what I just said. What's so funny about ice cream on my face? Or telling Eric to spit it out? Or talk about coming to the tournament tomorrow? Wait. WAIT. Oh. Oh, now I get it. Good lord, I get it. Geeze, and even my thoughts were teeming with unknowing sexual innuendos. _'I didn't have to come along if he didn't want me to.'_ Thank God Eric wasn't a telepath, or else I'm pretty sure he'd have fallen out of his chair and started rolling around on the ice cream parlor's dirty linoleum floor. I blushed as red as the maraschino cherry stem that Eric had twisted into a knot with his tongue when we first got our sundae; too bad I couldn't actually be that cherry stem.

Eric snickered as he watched me figure it out and put the pieces of a very dirty puzzle together. "_Come on_ Stackhouse, you were practically _begging for it_."

Being the good sport that I am (in more ways than one), I laughed it off. "Yeah. I see your _point_." A wave of satisfaction rushed over me as soon as he chuckled appreciatively.

"But seriouslyEric, why didn't you want to say anything earlier, when you were biting your lip? I mean, you never used to have any doubts about de-virginizing words or phrases before. What's different now?"

Well, that wiped the all-knowing smirk off of his face. Now he looked earnest, bashful. Although it was a new look for him, he wore it very well.

"Why didn't I want to say anything earlier? Good question. Uh … I didn't know if it was too soon for that … with what you said this morning and everything," he mumbled, looking earnestly at me, worried at what I might do.

Aaaaawh. My heart melted like the ice cream soup gathered at the bottom of our ice cream bowl. He was being so unbelievably sweet I was waiting for him to tell me he bought me a kitten and wrapped a pink polka-dot ribbon around its neck for a collar.

I reached over and took his hand in mine, squeezing gently. "Eric, that was really, really considerate of you. Especially because I know how hard it probably was for you to contain yourself for that long." I grinned, and he did too, nodding his head. I continued, "And I'm glad you were paying attention this morning. But, uh, I don't mean there has to be a chastity belt around my waist and a chastity muzzle around your mouth, you know? We already have an amazingly open relationship, so we should keep it that way. But, again, thank you for being so nice and thoughtful. Seriously. We've got an All-Star boyfriend right here. There's a MVB in our presence!"

"Most valuable boyfriend?" Eric asked. I nodded in confirmation. He smiled, "Well, we can't forget the girl with the gold medal in girlfriend-being either, you know. Wouldn't be right."

"I know. But I'm surprised you didn't mention the award-winning doubles pair … Sookric? Nope. Erikie? Meh. Oh well, Brangelina we ain't." _Plus, Eric was so much hotter than Brad Pitt. _

Eric made a face. "Good thing too, because then we'd have the paparazzi capturing our illegal relationship. Maybe Northhouse or Stackman?"

"Not bad. Suseric? Ericannah? I got nothing," I tried. Although the names sounded funny, they didn't feel right.

"What about Stackhouse and Northman?" Eric asked simply, shrugging his shoulders.

I grinned. We'd always been Stackhouse and Northman, right from the very beginning. I should have known better than to try and change it. "I like it."

"Me too." We smiled at each other for a while.

After I checked the time on my phone I very reluctantly told Eric that I probably should get going, if there was going to be any chance of Stackhouse and Northman time tomorrow. Eric seemed as sorry as I was to agree with me.

He walked me over to my car and promised he'd call later with the information on tomorrow. And after he gave me a long, slow kiss goodbye that made me want to forget responsibilities, duties, heck even my own name, just so I could be in that kiss forever. Sigh. And as an added bonus, he faintly tasted of chocolate.

I followed Eric until I had to turn right to go home and he had to continue going straight to his home; this time it wasn't so much fun driving behind him now that we knew we were going to end up at different destinations. Even though we beeped and honked until we became too separated to hear anything anymore, it wasn't enough. But as I was starting to figure out with Eric, there was never enough time with him.

**-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

**So what are your favorite Eric-Sookie nicknames? Chiisai-kitty liked "Stackman" because then you could go "nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah Stackman!" Don't you just want to have her brain?!**

**Okay, hopefully now it's time for some self-pimpage. I wrote a _Generation Kill_ FF ("The Big Easy: How To Cockblock Sgt. Brad Colbert) for the Seasons of Love contest over at the Alexander Skarsgard Library Forum **(http://www. alexanderskarsgardlibrary. com/forum/) **and it is now voting time! You have to register to see the entries, but it's free and easy and, hey, it's another site for Alexander Skarsgard inspired stuff. What's not to love?**

**Here are two sample quotes:**

**1.**) _As soon as the song finishes, Brad remembers he's supposed to be all stoic and Iceman and whatever, so he looks out the window and exclaims, "Jesus, Ray, aim for the road, not the woman with the stroller. You're a terrible civilian driver."_

_"Your mom said I'm a great driver in bed. She's a civilian."_

_"Which mom, Ray? My biological mother, the one who deemed herself mature enough to open her legs and embark on one of the oldest and most sought-out rituals known to mankind yet did not want to deal with the responsibilities of her very adult actions? Or my foster mother, the one who felt it was beneath her highly desired upper-middle class status to sleep in the same bed as her husband and partake in the same activities that anyone with an open pair of shaved legs, much like your cream-of-the-trailer-park-crop momma, would enjoy?"_

_"Both of them. At the same time."_

**2.)**_"You know the world is fucked up when the jihadist-killing Marine wears Birkenstocks, the most successful rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest player in the NBA is Chinese, France accuses the U.S. of being too arrogant, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the two most powerful men in America, hell the whole world, are named 'Bush' and 'Dick.' Need I say more?"_


End file.
